


Dropping the Act

by jadztone



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mary is discussed, Mary is neither saint nor villain, Mary's Past, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock Holmes and John Watson Being Idiots, but not the plot of Thor Bridge, characters from Thor Bridge, lots of cuddling!, low key Greg and Sally, low key Mycroft and Molly, moodboard, though not as much as you would think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 13:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 27,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13191168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadztone/pseuds/jadztone
Summary: Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St.  They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic.  Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a "normal" family.  It's easy enough to pretend when all you're doing is dropping the act.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm frustrated I didn't finish this by Christmas, but it is what it is. I had the idea of writing the holy trinity of tropes (Christmas/fake relationship/bedsharing) for my three OTPs (dreville/spirk/johnlock). All three are now complete, yay!
> 
> This hasn't been beta'd or britpicked.

The snow was already coming down as John hurried from the tube station to 221B.  He smiled when he saw the enormous wreath hanging on the door, almost obscuring the numbers.  He’d once asked Mrs. Hudson why it said 221B when there were three flats behind the door.  She laughed and said that had been Sherlock’s doing because he thinks his clients are idiots.

As John was hanging up his jacket, he could hear the sound of Rosie babbling upstairs with the occasional interjection in the deep sonorous voice of his flatmate.  John hurried up the stairs and went into the sitting room.  Sherlock was in his chair, Rosie on his lap, and they were reading a story about a Christmas tree.  They’d been reading the same book all week, preparing her for the various activities like picking out the tree and bringing it home (which they did last night) and trimming it (tonight’s activity).   

As usual, whenever John saw the two of them looking cozy together, his heart constricted.  He has yet to regret moving back to Baker Street, and only wished he’d done it sooner.  Often times, he wished he’d never left.  Sherlock looked up.  “Rosie, look who’s home.  It’s Daddy!”  She gave him a toothy grin and started wiggling.  Sherlock set her down and she launched herself at John.  He picked her up and gave her half a dozen kisses.  He had many regrets, but Rosie was the proverbial flower that grew out of the scorched earth of his life and made it beautiful.  John glanced over at Sherlock, who stood up and was buttoning his suit jacket.  Sherlock was…well, he was like water.  _Essential_.

John set Rosie down and then smiled warmly at Sherlock.  “I’ll just get changed and then we can go to Angelo’s, yeah?”

Sherlock gave him a perfunctory nod.  “Fortunately, there’s been no text from Lestrade about a case.”

John raised his eyebrows.  “Did you just say ‘fortunately’ in relation to a lack of cases?”

Sherlock smirked.  “Of course.  Rosie’s been looking forward to Angelo’s ravioli all day.  She’d scream the house down if we cancelled and I wouldn’t blame her.  Now do hurry up, John.  We still have to trim the tree after dinner and we’ve been doing so well getting her to bed at the same time every night.”

John gave him a mock salute and headed upstairs to change.  He still marveled at how domesticated Sherlock had become, and how much he prioritized Rosie.  The Work was still very important to him, but he somehow managed to juggle his two loves.  Because he loved her very much, that was clear.  Sherlock loved him too, he supposed, in the same way he loved Rosie.  He considered them family.  That would have to be enough for John.  He could admit to himself that he wished for more from Sherlock, but he wasn’t going to seek out that ‘more’ somewhere else.  There was no door number 3 for him.  He was staying at 221B for as long as Sherlock would have him.

John came down the stairs, and knew something was wrong when he saw Sherlock pacing in the kitchen.  He looked over to the sitting room and saw the back of Mycroft’s head as he sat in John’s chair.  Rosie was standing in front of him showing him one of her toys.  He was murmuring something to her that was no doubt stilted and condescending. 

John looked back at Sherlock.  “Why are you agitated?  You’ve been getting along with him so well these days.”

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft, then hissed, “I’m agitated because _he’s_ agitated.  I haven’t seen him like this since…the ordeal at Sherrinford.”

John paled and took a step back.  “You think something happened with Eurus?”

Sherlock shook his head.  “No.  He would have told me right away.  He insisted on waiting until you came back down.”

Mycroft turned slightly in his chair.  “John?  Is that you?”

John cleared his throat.  “Yeah, Mycroft.”  He stepped forward, his lips quirking as Rosie started chanting, “My, my, my, my, my.”

Mycroft stood up, and his fingers lightly skimmed the top of Rosie’s head.  John blinked.  He didn’t think he’d ever seen Mycroft touch Rosie before.  Mycroft went over to the sofa and sat down.  Rosie toddled over to him and climbed into his lap.  He seemed startled, but didn’t protest when she settled in and continued to examine the toy in her hand.  John felt dizzy, and he now understood Sherlock’s agitation.  Something was _very_ wrong.

John looked back at Sherlock, but he was on his mobile, texting something.  He then put it down and strode over to his chair and sat.  “Okay, Mycroft, why are you here?”  John took this as his cue to sit in his chair.

Mycroft looked up.  “I want you to know that I tried very hard to find out this information a long time ago.  I did a lot of digging and came up with nothing.  It is only sheer chance that someone I know in the American government owed me a rather large favor and brought this to my attention.  Once I verified what he told me, I considered his debt paid in full.”

Just once, John would like it if Mycroft got to the point immediately.  Today was apparently not that day.  There was a light knock at the door and Mrs. Hudson poked her head in.  “Hoo hoo!  I got your text, Sherlock.  What do you need?”

“Mrs. Hudson, would you mind watching Rosie for 15 minutes?  Only 15 minutes.  We have dinner plans.”  He said this last bit in Mycroft’s direction.

Mrs. Hudson looked over and saw Mycroft sitting there with Rosie on his lap.  She looked flabbergasted for a moment, and then pulled herself together and picked up Rosie.  “Come on, love.  I have some delicious biscuits downstairs for you.”

Sherlock frowned.  “Don’t spoil her dinner!”  Mrs. Hudson ignored him as she whisked Rosie out the door.  He turned his head towards Mycroft.  “So…I was right that Mary was American.”

John felt like every nerve ending in his body began firing at once.  _Mary_.  By unspoken mutual agreement, they never talked about her.  Not in 221B.  He knew someday he’d have to tell Rosie about her, and he had no problem with it - she deserved to know.  But the idea of talking about her with Sherlock always filled him with so much regret and shame that he avoided it altogether.  “I’m sorry…what?”

Sherlock gave him an apologetic look.  “Mycroft has found something out about her past.”

Mycroft clasped his hands together.  “I assure you, John, that I would not trouble you with this if it weren’t for the fact that it will very shortly affect your future.”

John immediately flashed back to Ajay and his single-minded focus on revenge, and felt panic well in his chest.  “Is this another one of her assassin friends?  Is Rosie in danger?”

Mycroft quickly shook his head. “No, John.  There’s no physical danger.  This doesn’t have anything to do with her work.  It’s to do with her family.”

John couldn’t help but notice that Mycroft had specified _physical_ danger.  That meant there was trouble of another kind.  “Her family?”  It was something he never thought about.  He’d accepted their lack of existence when he thought Mary was an orphan.  After her lies came out, he’d preferred to not think about her past at all.

“Specifically, the identity of her parents.  I tried to find out when I learned the truth about her, but she had very effectively sealed off that part of her life.  The only reason I know now is because they have begun their own search to find out what happened to her.”

Sherlock frowned.  “They’ve known she was alive all this time?  I always assumed she faked her death.”

Mycroft smiled tightly.  “It is what she led her employers to believe, because it was a required part of the job.”

John held up a hand.  “Her employers?  I thought she was freelance.”

“She went freelance after a while, but her recruitment and training were with an organization that…well, that’s irrelevant for the moment.  She was supposed to fake her death when she joined them.  According to my American source, she couldn’t bring herself to do that to her parents, so she made a pact with them.  Once a year, on Thanksgiving day, she got in touch with them to let them know she’s alive and give them only the barest account of her life.  If they don’t hear from her, they are to understand that the worst has happened.”

John tried to think if he recalled her acting oddly on that day in the past, but he couldn’t focus.  Sherlock spoke up.  “Why are they searching now and not last year?”

Mycroft shrugged.  “Remember she made those DVDs while she was on the run, in case Ajay did succeed in his plan to kill her?  Perhaps she made one for her parents and arranged for them to get it on Thanksgiving last year.”

Sherlock nodded slowly.  “She knew they would come looking for answers and didn’t want to burden John so soon after her death.”

John felt a roaring in his head.  “Let’s cut to the chase.  I’m guessing that we’re going to hear from them soon?  That’s what you’re leading up to, right?  Somehow, they’ve found us?  I’d like to know who these people are that they can find out about us, but the bloody British Government couldn’t find out about _them_ until they were ready for it.”

Mycroft nodded, looking thoroughly disgruntled.  “I’m afraid that Mary’s father has far more influence than I could ever hope to achieve.  I believe you’ve heard of Neil Gibson.”

John goggled at him.  “The _senator_?  The Vietnam war hero?”

Sherlock murmured.  “And one of the richest men in the world.  He literally owns _gold mines_.  I believe his wife is British.  That would explain how Mary could do an almost flawless British accent.”

Mycroft nodded gravely.  “As far as the world knew, his daughter died in an automobile accident shortly after she graduated from high school.  The victim of drunk driving.  It’s been used to garner sympathy during campaigns.”

John barked out a laugh.  “And the whole time she was going around murdering people.”

“Which they didn’t know, of course.  They thought she worked for some black ops branch of the CIA.  They had no problem using her picture because she informed them she had plastic surgery.  Just enough that the resemblance wouldn’t be striking.”

John rubbed at his face.  “And you’re saying these people are likely to show up on our doorstep at any moment?”

Mycroft swallowed.  “Indeed.  My informant tells me they already knew she was married and had a child – she’d told them that much in her brief contacts.  Now they’ve learned about her death and their grandchild’s current whereabouts.”

John felt ill at the idea of strangers coming to claim kinship with his daughter.  He tried for some semblance of reasonableness.  “Well…that’s good, right?  Rosie could always use more family.” 

Mycroft looked like he’d swallowed something sour.  “John…Sherlock… I’m about to say some very hurtful things and I want you to know it is only because you _must_ understand how all this will look to Mary’s parents.  Since Rosamund’s birth, her mother was murdered.  Her father subsequently passed her off to various caretakers while he drowned his grief in alcohol.  Sherlock almost killed himself with drugs and made a public spectacle by baiting a very rich man who later turned out to be a homicidal maniac.  Then the flat where Rosamund currently lives was blown up by Sherlock’s homicidal maniac sister who later kidnapped and almost murdered you.  This isn’t even seen as abnormal for the two of you.  You’ve been threatened multiple times by Moriarty and his worldwide network of criminals, so that Sherlock had to fake his death for two years.  And there’s the fact that you were both present when a prominent U.S. citizen was killed.  We were at least able to cover up the truth about what actually happened with Magnussen.  But most of those other things are a matter of public record.  The Gibsons will see all this when they run a check on the two men currently raising their granddaughter.”

John’s jaw clenched.  “I suppose it doesn’t matter that their _daughter_ was an assassin, and that Sherlock only killed Magnussen because of her secret?  Oh god.  Magnussen knew her real identity, didn’t he?  That was why…never mind.  The point is that a lot of blood was spilled because of _her_.  She shot Sherlock, for god’s sake!  And her death came about because of _her_ past.  The only reason they were even at the aquarium was because Norbury meddled in one of Mary’s assignments.”

Sherlock, who had been silent for quite a while, gave John a sharp look.  John looked back at him, daring him to argue.  Sherlock looked away.

Mycroft cleared his throat.  “John, none of that matters.  Her parents are only going to care about what they perceive to be a threat to their grandchild.”

John felt his breathing grow unsteady.  “Are you saying they might try to take Rosie away from me?”  His voice cracked at the end.

Mycroft sighed.  “I have no idea, John.  I can only say that if they do, they would absolutely succeed.  They wouldn’t even have to use any of their money or power.  The very public record of Sherlock’s misdeeds would be more than enough to grant them custody.”

Sherlock shot out of his chair.  “ _No_!  What if John moves out?  Finds some harmless woman to court and marry?”

John leapt from his own chair.  “Absolutely not!  I am not leaving Baker Street.  I’m certainly not going to propose to some random woman so I can be the right kind of domesticated.”

Sherlock glared at him.  “Don’t be selfish, John!  Rosie needs her father, you must do whatever it takes.”

John put his hands on his hips, shaking his head.  “No, no I really don’t.  I remember the last time I did ‘whatever it takes’ and I ended up being miserable in a marriage that was going off the rails.  I’m not signing up for that again.”  Sherlock looked stricken.

Mycroft spoke up.  “I do have another solution, if the two of you would care to hear it?”

They both looked over at him.  John sat back down.  If there was one thing Mycroft was good at, it was knowing how to manipulate powerful people.  “Go on.”  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock sit down with a huff.

“The problem with your current arrangement is that it looks very much as if the two of you are continuing your former lifestyle of two bachelors chasing dangerous people around London, without regard for the fact that you have a child in the mix.”

John gripped the arm of his chair.  “That’s _not_ what we’re…”

“John!  I _know_.  I’m saying that how it looks.  You need to downplay the chasing criminals bit and emphasize that you’re a family.”

John pinched his nose.  “Okay, and how do we do that, exactly?”

“The first thing the Gibsons are going to want to understand is _why_ you moved back to Baker Street, if not to continue having adventures.”

“I…” John flushed.  The reason was because he loved Sherlock and couldn’t bear to live without him. 

He glanced over at Sherlock, who was looking at Mycroft with narrowed eyes.   “You want us to make them think we’re in a relationship.”

Mycroft gave him his smarmiest smile.  “They won’t object to the fact that you’re two men.  Senator Gibson’s sister has children with her lesbian partner.  But they have to believe that you are really serious about each other.  I can arrange for the press to receive a…erm…happy announcement.”

John wondered if Mycroft was making a deliberate callback to their very first conversation.  Probably. 

Sherlock steepled his hands together.  “It could work…  We could include with the announcement that I won’t be taking on anymore clients for a while.”

Mycroft nodded encouragingly.  “It would also be easy enough to arrange for the Gibsons find out that Sherlock is in the process of formally adopting Rosamund.”  This time it was Sherlock who flushed. 

John felt like he should be careful what he wishes for.  These were all things he desperately wanted, but certainly not as part of a sham.  “You really think that would be enough to get them to back off?”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows.  “I think it might.  With one final pièce de résistance.  Once they get in touch with you - which will be very soon - you should invite them to spend Christmas with the Holmes family.  You can’t deny that our parents are perfectly lovely people who absolutely dote on Rosamund.”

Sherlock stared at him wonderingly.  “ _Brilliant_.  Our parents do love the holidays and make their home look disgustingly cheerful.  We’ll all look like one big _normal_ family.”

John thought it best not to remind them that it was during a Holmes Family Christmas that Sherlock drugged everyone and then committed murder.  Was that really only two years ago?  Last year was, amazingly, even worse.  John had still been drowning in grief and self-pity and Sherlock was getting high off his tits.  He’d been hoping to start fresh this year.  He’d even thought of the idea of inviting Sherlock’s parents over, since they _were_ lovely people as Mycroft said.

John looked up from his musings and realized that Sherlock and Mycroft were staring at him, as if waiting for him to say something.  Obviously wondering what John thought of this insane idea.  John took a deep breath.  “Are you sure you want to do this, Sherlock?  You always tell people that you’re married to your work.”

Sherlock gave him a bland look.  “And you’re always telling people that you’re not gay.”

John winced.  “Not anymore, I don’t.  I…”  Well, he couldn’t exactly explain _why_.  “I really don’t have any problem with people thinking you and I are in love.”  

It seemed as though Sherlock’s expression had softened.  “Nor I.  It’s the least I could do, John.  After all, it’s my reputation that has put you in this dilemma.”

Great.  Sherlock was agreeing out of misplaced guilt.  John cleared his throat.  “All right then.  If you could set things in motion, Mycroft?”

Mycroft nodded gravely and stood up.  “I shall make sure it goes into the newspapers tomorrow.  Same with the adoption papers.  Meanwhile, you should make sure that your flat looks more like that of a couple.”  He started towards the door.  “Enjoy your dinner at Angelo’s.  Tonight would be an excellent time to start publicly appearing to be in a relationship.”  He smirked and then walked out of the flat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was creating OCs to be Mary’s parents and the only thing I had so far was US Senator and rich/powerful. I decided for kicks to see if there were any similar characters in ACD canon I could use for the name. Despite my familiarity with Thor Bridge, I never paid any attention to details about Neil Gibson other than he was rich and powerful. So imagine my delight to find out he was also a US Senator. Since Sherlock BBC is an AU, I’ve decided that Neil Gibson fell in love with and married Grace. Maria never entered the picture, so none of the events in Thor Bridge happens. Also, I didn’t start out intending him to have similarities to John McCain (war hero, gay sister), but that sort of happened.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock watched Mycroft leave, and then stood up, trying hard to reign in his emotions.  He’d been waiting for something like this to happen.  Something to make John realize once and for all that no good could come from having Sherlock in his life.  He wasn’t fooled by John’s defense of him earlier.  The moment the Gibsons take Rosie away, that’ll be, what? The _third_ time Sherlock has decimated John’s life.  Faking his own death, causing Mary’s death, and now costing John custody of his daughter.  Three strikes and you’re out. 

Why didn’t John agree to his suggestion to go out and find some woman to play house with?  Instead he was going to play house with Sherlock.  John wasn’t making any sense at all.  It was too risky.  How was John going to fake being in love with him?  He’ll be rubbish at it.  For Sherlock, it was a piece of cake.  He was already in love with John, he just had to stop concealing it.

As if reading his mind, John finally spoke, “So…um…what Mycroft said about being a couple at Angelo’s.  How do you propose we do this?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  “You’re asking me?  Relationships are your area, not mine.”

John chuckled.  “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.  I remember how awkward you were with Janine.  She’s a beautiful woman and really into you and it was like you had no idea what to do with her.”

Sherlock bristled.  “That was because she didn’t know me at all, and I didn’t know her, and she was a _woman_.  I may not know exactly how relationships work, but as long as you tell me what to do, there will be no awkwardness because we know each other so well and we’re always in sync.”

John nodded absently.  “That’s a good point.  We’re practically a married couple, anyway.”  He frowned.  “Hang on, what does Janine being a woman have to do with the reason it was awkward?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “Because I don’t find women attractive.  It was like kissing my Aunt Ellen.  It was just my luck Magnussen didn’t have a male PA.”

John stared at him.  “You’re _gay_?”

Sherlock gave a longsuffering sigh.  “I thought surely by now you would have figured _that_ out.  Are you going to change your mind now about pretending we’re in love?”

John turned red.  “Why would I?”

“Because if we have to do things like hold hands or kiss, you’ll know that I don’t find it as repugnant to touch a man as you do.”

John turned even redder, and then folded his arms in front of him.  “I would have thought by now you’d have figured out I’m bisexual.  Didn’t you deduce it after you met Major Sholto?”

Sherlock felt the air leave his lungs.  “I…I did deduce there was something between you two.  But I figured it for a combat fling and not representative of your sexuality.  After all, you’ve only ever dated women.  And you could never understand why I had no interest in Irene.  Only straight men are that oblivious.”

John huffed.  “You never showed interest in anyone, _ever_.”  Oh John, thought Sherlock, you see but you do not observe.  “For the record, the thing with James wasn’t just two soldiers closing their eyes and getting each other off.  I was attracted to him.  I had feelings for him.”

Sherlock _really_ didn’t want to hear about this.  “Okay fine.  We were both wrong about each other’s sexuality.   That means you won’t recoil from me if I take your hand at Angelo’s?”

John laughed.  “We’ve held hands before, Sherlock.”

“Because we were handcuffed together.”  John laughed harder and Sherlock joined in.

John finally stopped giggling and took a steadying breath. “Okay, we better get Rosie and head out.  I think we should take a cab, it was snowing when I came home.”

Sherlock nodded and they went downstairs to fetch Rosie from Mrs. Hudson.  John told her they’d fill her in later on what happened with Mycroft.  Sherlock supposed she would need to know, especially since it would be all over the news tomorrow.  There’d be reporters.  _Tedious_.

When the cab pulled up, Sherlock was startled when he felt John’s hand on his lower back.  “You get in first and I’ll hand you Rosie, alright?”  Sherlock nodded and entered the cab.  John handed Rosie to him and she settled on his lap.  John got in and gave the cabbie the address, then scooted close enough so that their legs were pressed together.  He didn’t usually sit this close.  Was he already practicing for the sham?  Or he just wanted to see the toy that Rosie was showing him?

Sherlock was still reeling a bit from the revelation that John found men attractive.  Apparently, he didn’t find Sherlock attractive.  Or maybe he did when they met and that was the reason for the third degree that first dinner at Angelo’s.  Probably living with Sherlock had burned away any desire to get in his pants.  That meant he’d only had one chance at John and he’d blown it.  It wasn’t _fair_.  He hadn’t known then what he knew now:  as much as he loathed the idea of relationships and the risks that were involved, John Watson was worth it.

When they arrived at Angelo’s and got out of the cab, John once again put his hand on Sherlock’s back as they walked into the restaurant.  Sherlock suppressed a shiver.  When they’d settled into the window seat, Angelo offered to get a candle for the table.  John held up his hand.  “No thanks, I don’t want Rosie grabbing it by accident.  We’ll save the candle for date night.”  Then he _winked_.   Angelo gave a hearty laugh and winked back before heading back to the kitchen. 

John seemed to be jumping right into his new role.  Sherlock supposed he was motivated.  Anything to keep his daughter.  Sherlock looked down at Rosie, who was doing a terrible job at coloring in a picture of a rabbit.  John gave her the blue crayon to use, telling her its name was Bluebell.  He looked up at Sherlock and winked.  Sherlock couldn’t help but grin, even as he realized he was in _trouble_.  It was hard enough being in love with him, but if John was going to turn the old Watson charm on him, he was sure to make a fool of himself.

John cleared his throat.  “Listen, we don’t know when the Gibsons are going to show up.  It could be anytime, so we need to do what Mycroft said and prepare the flat.”

Sherlock frowned.  “It’s already toddler-proofed.  All my lab equipment, body parts, and case files are downstairs in 221C.  It is a perfectly family-friendly flat.”

“I agree it looks like a child lives there.  It doesn’t look like we’re a couple.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Well, a big red flag would be the fact that Rosie and I share a room.  They’re gonna want to see where she sleeps and they wouldn’t miss my bed and clothes in the closet.”

John had a point. “Well, I suppose you could move your bed down to 221C temporarily.”

“Sure, I could do that.  But I’m not going to want to sleep there.  Not with your experiments and the mold that Mrs. Hudson still hasn’t eradicated.”

Sherlock felt himself growing hot.  “No, I could see that would be unappealing.  I…uh…I don’t mind if you share my room.  It’s not like we haven’t done it before.”  Only technically speaking.  Sherlock had spent both nights in the Cross Keys pacing the floor as he dealt with the lingering effects of the hallucinogenic.  They’d never actually slept in the same bed. 

“Ta.  I appreciate it.  Since I have off tomorrow, I’ll get started on moving my clothes to your closet and between the two of us we should be able to get the bed down to 221C.”

Sherlock nodded dumbly.  Tomorrow night John would be sleeping in his bed.  No one had _ever_ slept in his bed.  And now _John_ was.  Sherlock barely registered that his pasta was being set down in front of him.  Rosie called out “Oli!  Oli!” when she saw her ravioli.

After dinner, they took another cab home and Sherlock catalogued in his mind palace each and every time John touched him in a way he hadn’t before.  Would he stop as soon as they got to 221B and there was no longer an audience?

As soon as they were home, John led Rosie over to the tree and gave her a box of non-breakable ornaments.  Then he pulled out his mobile.  “We need some Christmas music.” 

Sherlock intercepted him, putting his hand over John’s to stop him.  “I’ll play my violin.”

John looked up with a warm smile.  “You don’t mind?”

“Of course not.  This way I won’t have to hear Jingle Bell Rock.” 

John burst out laughing.  “Hey, I like that song.”  He bumped shoulders with Sherlock as he put away his mobile. 

Sherlock took out his violin and started playing ‘We Wish You a Merry Christmas.’  Rosie clapped as she always did when he played, letting the ornament she was holding drop to the ground.  Mrs. Hudson came into the flat with some hot cocoa, and the three of them carried on with trimming the tree while Sherlock played his violin.  At one point, he even played a version of Jingle Bell Rock that sent John into giggles.  When all the ornaments and lights were on the tree, Sherlock (as the tallest) was designated to lift Rosie up so she could put the star on top.

Mrs. Hudson waited downstairs with a fresh cup of hot cocoa spiked with rum while John and Sherlock put Rosie to bed.  She always insisted on both of them being present.  When she was finally tucked in, they came downstairs to fill in Mrs. Hudson on what they’d learned earlier in the evening.

Mrs. Hudson pressed her hand to her chest.  “Oh dear, do you think they would have done a check on me as well?”

John rubbed his face.  “Christ.  Yeah, probably so.”  Sherlock could only imagine what they’d discovered.

“Well then, he’ll probably find out that I volunteered at his campaign office when he was running for governor of Florida.  I wanted him to win because he’s pro-death penalty.”

John burst into giggles.  Mrs. Hudson swiped him on the knee, then gave a little snicker.  John cleared his throat.  “Anyway, Mycroft figured we’d look more like a family if Sherlock and I pretend that we’re in a romantic relationship.”

Mrs. Hudson’s eyes widened.  “You aren’t already?”  She paused and then snickered again.  “I’m just teasing.  I know you aren’t.  You never make any noise.”  John gave her a confused look, though Sherlock could already guess what she meant.  “Well I mean, Mrs. Turner always has to wear ear plugs.”

While John turned beet red, Sherlock spoke up.  “Joking aside, I think that most of the people we know will already think we’re in a relationship, and they won’t bat an eye when they see the announcement in the paper tomorrow.”

“I think we should at least tell Greg, Molly, Harry and your parents the news tonight or we’ll get chewed out.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  You tell Lestrade and your sister, I’ll tell my parents.  I’m sure Mycroft has already told Molly.”  He said this last bit with a sneer, and John gave him an exasperated look.

John explained the rest of the plan to Mrs. Hudson, including that they’ll be moving John’s bed downstairs tomorrow.  She gave him a concerned look.  “You’re not actually going to sleep down in that moldy old flat?”

“No, I’ll be in Sherlock’s room.”  She gave Sherlock a knowing look, but didn’t say anything.  “Anyways, the only ones who will know the truth are you, Mycroft, and Sherlock’s parents.  To the rest of the world we will appear to be madly in love and planning our future with Rosie.”

Mrs. Hudson sipped her cocoa.  “Sounds lovely, dear.  I’ll be sure to play the part of the doting landlady who has always known you two were meant for each other.”

John narrowed his eyes.  “Ta, Mrs. Hudson.”


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, when John got back from dropping off Rosie at her morning playgroup, he found Sherlock running an experiment in 221C.  “Sherlock, we should take care of getting the bed down here while there isn’t a toddler underfoot.”

Sherlock gave a longsuffering sigh and pulled off his goggles.  They trudged up the stairs to the top floor, John feeling winded and thinking maybe he should get back into the habit of riding his bike to work.  He’d already stripped the bed before breakfast, explaining to Rosie that he was sleeping in Sherlock’s room from now on because she was a big girl who deserved her own room.  He had a feeling she wasn’t going to take too well to not having her daddy in the same room with her every night.

It wasn’t too much difficulty getting all the pieces down the stairs, as John had been using a twin - the only size that would fit in the room with Rosie’s cot.  John knew that he also had to deal with moving his clothes down to Sherlock’s room (oh god oh god oh god) before he had to go pick up Rosie, but first he wanted to have a talk with Sherlock. 

Sherlock regarded him warily as John indicated he should sit on the sofa. John sat down next to him.  “When I first moved back in, it was with the understanding that we were going to parent Rosie together.  She even calls you papa.”

Sherlock frowned.  “I thought that was just because she can’t say any part of my name yet.”

John smiled.  “Sherlock isn’t a toddler-friendly name, that’s true.  But the main reason is because you committed to raising her with me.  Yes?”  Sherlock nodded, clearly not knowing where John was going with this.  “I realized when Mycroft brought up adoption that we’d only ever verbalized that commitment.  I could kick myself that we haven’t already done an adoption.  We’re lucky we didn’t get into a situation where you not being her legal guardian would have caused some problems.  But it’s even more important now that her grandparents will be in the picture.  If I die, they could get custody because they’re blood relatives.  I want you to be the one to raise her if I’m gone.” 

Sherlock looked stunned.  “Wouldn’t they be better parents?  They actually have experience.  And they’re normal.  Probably.”

“I’m sure they’re very nice people, but let’s not forget they raised someone who chose ‘assassin’ as her future career.  Sherlock, I want Rosie to grow up in London.  I want her to know her past.  You would tell her everything about me.  I also want her to learn the things that only you can teach her.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.  “What?  Like how to deduce people?  297…no, 298 types of tobacco ash?”

John smiled.  “Yes, and how to dance and how to play the violin if she wishes.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “The Gibsons would teach her those things.”

“No, they’d hire someone.  But the most important thing you can teach her is how to be kind.”

Sherlock huffed out a laugh.  “Did you take a blow to the head?  Me? _Kind_?”

John gazed at him fondly. “I’m not talking about politeness and how not to hurt people’s feelings, which is what most people think kindness means.  You understand true kindness, which is to help people when they really need it and go above and beyond in doing so.”

Sherlock looked away and leaned back, huffing out a sigh.  His hands were on his knees, and John put his hand over Sherlock’s.  “What do you say, Sherlock?  Will you legally adopt Rosie?  Ensure your position in her future?”

Sherlock nodded.  His voice slightly hoarse, he said, “It would be an honor.”

John beamed, and squeezed his hand.  Sherlock glanced down at their hands and John pulled away.  “Sorry.  I guess I sort of got into the mode of being affectionate last night and I don’t always remember we’re alone.”  Truth be told, the moment they left to go to Angelo’s, he made the decision to loosen the reigns of his emotions and simply behave in the way that he’d been aching to for a long time now.  Sherlock would think it was an act, but it was the opposite.  The _act_ had been pretending that he only had platonic feelings for his friend. 

Sherlock reached over and retrieved John’s hand.  “I wasn’t concerned.  I think it’s probably better that we be consistent with our behavior no matter where we are, so we don’t get confused.”

John suppressed a smile.  “That’s a good idea.  I don’t think affection is something I can just turn on and off.”

Sherlock looked down at their hands again.  “Besides, it’s very pleasant.  Soothing.” 

John’s eyebrows shot skyward.  “Is it?”  He smirked.

Sherlock glowered at him.  “Of course, it is.  It’s a proven scientific fact that touch is very important to human development and wellbeing.  It’s why I make it a point to kiss and cuddle with Rosie at regular intervals.”

“Yes, well now you know why adults are constantly getting into romantic relationships.  They like kisses and cuddles just as much as children.”

Sherlock had a very odd expression on his face.  Almost troubled.  “John, I…”  His mobile chirped in his pocket.  He reached in and fetched it, glaring at the screen.  “Reporters.  I really should turn this off.”  He let go of John’s hand.  “I need to get back to my experiment.  You’ll call Mycroft about the adoption papers?”

John nodded. “Yeah, then I’ll work on getting my clothes downstairs.”

Sherlock was already sweeping out the door.  “Fine.  I’ve cleared some space.”

As John went upstairs, he wondered why Sherlock had that expression when he mentioned adults needing kisses and cuddles.  Was he not looking forward to having to do these things in front of the Gibsons?  John would ask him about it later.  He took out his mobile and texted Mycroft, asking him to call re the adoption papers.  As he was in the process of draping his hanging clothes on the bed, his mobile rang.  “Hey Mycroft.  Listen, we’ve decided that we want the adoption to be real.  It’s something we should have done ages ago.”

“I’m glad you think so, John.  I’ve had the papers drawn up and waiting for your signature for months now.  It’s even backdated, so the Gibsons won’t think that you’re doing this just for them.”

John sighed deeply, wanting to lecture Mycroft about his presumptiveness.  But it was always a waste of time when he was in the right.  “Fine, send the papers round and we’ll sign them.”

“Any chance you want me to arrange for a real marriage license as well?” 

John shook his head.  Bloody Mycroft.  Of course he’s deducted John’s feelings.  John wondered if he should feign ignorance or drop the pretense altogether.  “The fact that Sherlock has become invested in a relationship with my child is far more ‘caring’ than I have ever expected of him.  I have the moon, I’m not going to expect the stars as well.”

There was a long pause.  “The two of you astound me sometimes.  I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

John chuckled.  “I wouldn’t take it that way.  And I won’t ask you what you mean.  You enjoy being cryptic too much.  Thank you, Mycroft, for your help with the adoption.”  He rang off. 

John managed to get all his things down to Sherlock’s room, but he had to go get Rosie, so he left it on the bed for now.  The _bed_.  (oh god oh god oh god)

Given that he’d been ignoring calls from reporters all morning, he shouldn’t have been surprised that a few were waiting when he opened the door to the street.  He sighed.  He supposed he should be relieved there weren’t more.  And the ones that were here looked bored.  Sherlock had been keeping a low profile ever since John and Rosie moved in, so he wasn’t on the press’s radar much these days.  “I’m not going to make a statement, guys.  We want our privacy.”

“Oh come on, at least tell us who proposed!  And how!  Was it at a crime scene?  Bending over a body?”  This was from Ferdie Morgan, who ran a popular online crime newsletter that tended to feature Sherlock a lot.  John giggled.  “Sorry, I’ve got important Christmas shopping to do.”  He walked away and fortunately they didn’t try to follow him. 

When he got back home with Rosie, Sherlock wasn’t there – he’d texted to say he went to Bart’s.  John gave Rosie her lunch while he perused his laptop for any pictures he’d saved of him and Sherlock together.  He wanted to get a few printed out and framed to put around the flat.  There was already half a dozen of just Rosie scattered about, it would look strange if there weren’t any that included the two of them.  There was one of the three of them posed that Mrs. Hudson took the day John and Rosie moved back in.  That was perfect for the mantle.  Another one of the two of them laughing about something (probably gallows humor) that Greg had taken and sent to him.  That could go in Rosie’s room. 

There was a third…John debated whether to have it printed.  It would be perfect for Sherlock’s room, now designated as _their_ room.  Molly had taken it the night they celebrated the remodeling of the flat.  John and Sherlock were sitting on the sofa.  He remembered that Sherlock was telling a story about a deduction he’d made earlier that day.  As usual, he grinned at Sherlock’s brilliance and said, “Amazing.  You are amazing, Sherlock.”  John still cringed a bit about the _way_ he said it.  In the picture he looked utterly besotted as he stared at Sherlock.  Molly had captured the moment when Sherlock looked over at his words, his expression soft.  John knew that Sherlock always gave him that look when he complimented him.  Sherlock soaked up praise like a flower in sunlight.  But an outsider might interpret his expression as one of love.  Indeed, Molly had sent John the picture with a heart eyes emoji.  It was John’s favorite picture and he sometimes pulled it up on his mobile to stare at it.

As far as he knew, Sherlock had never seen this picture.  Would he make any deductions about how John was looking at him in this photo?  How would he interpret John choosing this one to put in a frame for the bedroom?  He might see it as logical, since they looked very much like a couple.  Or he might realize the sentiment behind it and finally deduce John’s feelings for him.  “Daddy!  Papa!” John looked over and saw Rosie staring at the laptop screen, a wide smile on her sauce-covered face.  She obviously liked the photo.  That settles it.  John added the photo to the memory stick.

When lunch was over, John took Rosie for a walk in Regent Park, then they swung by Tesco to get ingredients for dinner, print out the pictures, and get a few frames.  They went back home and John put the pictures in the frames and set them up where he had planned.  Rosie clapped with approval.

Rosie took a nap while John put away his clothes and things that he’d dumped on the bed earlier.  A few times his breathing got unsteady as he wondered how he was going to be able to keep his hands to himself with Sherlock in bed with him.  This wasn’t like sleepovers when he was a kid, or sharing a tent with a fellow soldier in the Afghani desert.  This was the man he was desperately in love with, with a face and body like a dream, who would be lying next to him (soft with sleep) in the most intimate setting there was outside of sex.  _Christ_. 

*

When Sherlock got home, he went straight to 221C to drop off the samples Molly gave him, and hide the small slim box containing John’s Christmas present.  It wasn’t something he would normally get John, for fear of telegraphing his feelings.  But now that they were pretending to be a couple, John would probably attribute it to the circumstances.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what John said that morning about adults needing kisses and cuddles.  It was the main reason that he’d felt insecure ever since John moved back in.  John was determined to prioritize Rosie having a stable home, and he’d designated 221B as that home.  As such, he hadn’t pursued any romantic interests.  But Sherlock couldn’t see John holding out forever.  Sherlock himself yearned for kisses and cuddles, since falling in love with John.  Imagine how much worse it must feel to John, having had actual experience with these things and now being denied them. 

Sherlock came to the realization that he was in the midst of a perfect opportunity to get John what he was missing, without him having to look elsewhere.  Sherlock would make sure to kiss and cuddle John whenever possible, however long this charade would go on.  If he got John acclimatized enough to doing these things with Sherlock, maybe he would be amenable to continuing with it even after the Gibsons leave and (hopefully) leave Rosie behind.  And _maybe_ someday they could take things further.  John might not find him attractive now, but maybe he’d grow into it.  These were a lot of maybes, Sherlock thought to himself.  He wouldn’t get his hopes up too high.  The most important thing was making John happy enough that he wouldn’t go find a woman (or man) to take up with and leave Sherlock again.  It would simply be a bonus if he got kisses and cuddles and sex out of the deal.

Sherlock bounded up the stairs to their flat.  He was ready for a night in.  John was planning to cook the thing with the peas.  When he entered the sitting room, John and Rosie were on the floor with a puzzle.  Sherlock noticed that there was a new framed photograph on the mantle.  One of the three of them.  John laughed as Rosie leapt up and waddled to Sherlock, and he swept her up in a kiss.  She giggled at first, but then wrinkled her nose.  She could smell the formaldehyde.  “Apparently, I reek of the morgue, John.  I’ll go take a quick shower.”  John nodded his assent, chuckling.

Sherlock went into the bathroom and stripped.  As he stepped under the spray, he wondered if he should wank, given that mere hours from now he’d be in the same bed with John.  He’d hate to spook him with an ill-timed erection.  He decided against it.  He preferred to wank when no one was home, so he could be as loud as he wanted.  It wouldn’t work anyway, he’d probably still get an erection later.  John had that effect on him.

Sherlock went into the bedroom, heading to the bureau to get underwear.  He stopped short when he saw the framed photograph there.  One of him and John.  So, this was John’s way of making the flat more couple-y as Mycroft had instructed.  Sherlock stared at the photo.  He recognized it.  Molly sent it to him, and the expression of naked adoration on his face had distressed him so much that he deleted the picture from both his mobile and his memory.  Apparently, she sent it to John as well.  He must not have been upset by the photo if he kept it.  And chose to print it out for their sham.  It was a good choice.  If he saw such a photo in someone else’s flat, he’d deduce that they were desperately in love.

Sherlock changed into a t-shirt and lounge pants and went to the wardrobe to fetch his favorite blue dressing gown.  He paused a moment to revel in the sight of John’s clothes hanging next to his.  If he had his way, they’d remain there the rest of their lives.


	4. Chapter 4

After Rosie was put to bed, they headed to the sofa to watch some crap telly.  Sherlock put his plan into action.  Normally they’d sit on opposite ends.  Sherlock would use the middle to curl his feet up and John would put his feet on the coffee table.  When John sat down on his end and put his feet up, Sherlock sat in the middle and then stretched his body the full length of the sofa, with his shoulders in John’s lap and his head on the arm rest.  John blinked.  “Ohhh…kay?”  His arms hovered hesitantly above Sherlock, like he wasn’t sure where to put them.

“We have to practice, John.  Become as comfortable as possible with each other on a physical level.  Get any awkwardness out of the way when we’re alone, so that when the Gibsons do show up, our behavior towards each other will be seamless.  I need to know what sort of level of physical affection you’re comfortable with when we’re with friends, and when we’re in public.  Do you like to hold hands? Are you a side hugger or full hugger?  Kiss on the lips or on the cheeks?  Probably not on top of the head, you’d think it too infantile.”

John giggled, resting his right arm on Sherlock’s torso and his left one on the arm rest, his fingers near Sherlock’s curls.  “Okay, okay, Sherlock.  You need data.  It’s fine.  For the record, yes – I would consider a kiss on the very top of my head infantile.”  Sherlock had to fight a smile.  John seemed much more at ease than he’d imagined.  “It’s funny you should bring this up, I was going to myself.  I wasn’t sure if you were uneasy with the whole affection thing.  I was going to let you know we didn’t have to do any of that if you didn’t want to.”  He huffed a laugh.  “But you seem to have no issue with it at all.”

“None whatsoever, John.  I know you’re still thinking of when I was kissing Janine.  But as I told you, it won’t be the same because you’re a man.”

“You say that, Sherlock, but attraction to a gender doesn’t mean you are literally attracted to every single person of that gender.  For example, I know you wouldn’t be amenable to kissing Anderson.”

Sherlock gave him a horrified look.  “Why the hell would you put that image in my head?”  He groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, while John giggled.  Sherlock was mollified when he felt John’s fingers tangle in his hair a bit.

“Well see, I’ve made my point.  You can’t just say kissing me will be pleasant because I’m a man.”

Sherlock stared up at John.  “Are you actually putting yourself in the same category as _Anderson_?  John, I only spoke in generalities because I didn’t want you uncomfortable with the idea that I think you’re an attractive man and it won’t be a hardship to kiss you.”  Sherlock was taking a big gamble on this, hopefully John won’t freak out.

John stared straight ahead for a long moment.  “I see.  Um…I don’t have a problem with it.”

“Good.  Ella would be proud of us.  We’ve both thought of the other’s feelings.  We’ve shared our concerns.  We’re in agreement that it’s fine.  Now we can relax and focus on more important things. Speaking of which...” Sherlock reached for the remote and handed it to John, who giggled as he took it from him and turned on the telly.  He also started playing with Sherlock’s hair.   

*

 As John brushed his teeth, he gave himself a lecture to stay in control.  Sherlock was being a really good sport about all this.  Even going so far as to assure John that he wouldn’t be repulsed by kissing him.  It was sweet, really.  It was also cute that Sherlock was taking such a strategic approach, being very thorough to make sure their plan was executed flawlessly.  John certainly welcomed it.  They’d had a lovely evening on the sofa, and Sherlock even seemed unperturbed that John was running his fingers through his hair (which he’d been dying to do pretty much from the moment they met). 

But even though Sherlock had given him carte blanche, he knew that there _were_ limits to what he was allowed to do.  In fact, it was probably a good idea if John avoided touching him altogether while in the bed.  Otherwise, he was pretty sure things would get out of hand really quickly. 

He went into the bedroom and Sherlock went to take his turn in the bathroom.  John stopped him momentarily.  “Hey, what side of the bed do you prefer?”

“The middle.”

“Ha! Yes, well since that isn’t an option, what side do you want to take?”

“I don’t care, John.  Just pick one.”

“Ta.”  Sherlock went on into the bathroom.

John liked the right side, so that’s what he took.  He hadn’t had that option when…well anyway.  John slipped under the duvet and burrowed into the warmth.  The sheets were lovely.  Leave it to Sherlock to have sheets just as sensuously soft as his shirts.  He checked his mobile one last time.  He’d been getting well wishes all day from people who’d heard the “good news” and tried to respond to them immediately so that they wouldn’t pile up.  Sherlock came out of the bathroom and went around the bed to climb in on his side.  John was honestly surprised he was coming to bed at a decent hour.  John knew Sherlock often stayed up long after he’d gone upstairs to bed.  Maybe he’d had a tiring day.

John felt tense as Sherlock settled in.  What if he wanted to ‘practice’ the physical intimacy?  John had firmly decided there would be no touching, but he didn’t currently have a good excuse for how to put Sherlock off in a way that would make sense to that logical brain of his. 

Sherlock turned to him, and regarded him.  John thought for a moment that he was about to deduce him, but instead he murmured, “Goodnight, John.”  John was on the verge of feeling relief, when Sherlock slid over to him.  John tensed, but Sherlock only gave him a soft kiss on his temple, then he slid back over to his side and settled in. 

John smiled at the warm feeling that spread through him.  “Good night, Sherlock.”  When the warmth turned into an ache, he shook his head and put his mobile away.  He made sure that the baby monitor was on, and turned out the light.  He felt relieved, and a bit sheepish.  He didn’t know what he’d expected to happen.  That he would be overcome with lust and do something stupid?  Except for the goodnight kiss, which in itself had been platonic, it was exactly like two mates sharing a bed.  He might just make it through this experience without humiliating himself.  

*

When Sherlock was sure that John was asleep, he eased out of the bed, grabbed the monitor, and crept down the hall to the sitting room.  He wasn’t remotely tired, and he needed to do some research to prepare for an experiment he wanted to start soon on how quickly certain types of food break down in rainwater.  He curled up on the sofa with his laptop. 

Several hours later, he heard Rosie start to fuss.  After a few moments, he heard a wobbly, “Daddy?” and then she started to cry.  He’d figured this might happen.  She was used to John being right there.  He went upstairs and opened the door.  The night light provided enough illumination that he could see her standing in her cot.  She stopped crying when she saw him.  “Papa?”  Her breath hitched.

He went over to her and gave her a kiss on her head and rubbed her back.  “It’s time to sleep, little bee.”  

She blinked.  “Daddy?”

“He’s sleeping, which is what you should be doing.  You can see daddy in the morning.  Go on back to sleep.”

She seemed to be trying to decide if she should protest or sleep.  Her tired little eyes would seem to indicate she’d choose the latter, but she was a stubborn Watson.  Sherlock picked up her favorite bee plush toy.  “Look, Mr. Bee is tired and he’s waiting for you to hug him to sleep.”  This seemed to do the trick.  She grabbed Mr. Bee and hugged him to her and laid back down.  Sherlock drew her blanket up.  “Sleep tight, Rosie.”  Her eyes drooped shut.

Sherlock went back downstairs, content that she wouldn’t wake up again.  He closed down his laptop and went back to the bedroom and slipped into the bed.  He gazed at John, contemplating his next move.  He’d sensed John’s tension earlier, and decided against initiating anything more intimate than a quick peck on the temple.  But he needed to move this along, and the easiest thing he could do that wouldn’t arouse any suspicion was to arrange for them to wake up in physical contact with each other. 

At the moment, John was on his back.  Sherlock scooted over and lay on his side next to John, his forehead resting lightly against John’s hair right above his ear.  No response from John. He carefully draped his arm over John’s torso.  That should be enough for the first night.  Granted, he didn’t know what position they’d be in when they woke up.  They could be even closer.  They might be back on opposite ends.  Sherlock had never slept in a bed with someone before, anything was possible.  At least he would get to fall asleep this way.  He inhaled the scent of John’s hair.  It was quite lovely.  His fingers tightened against John’s vest as he drifted off.

*                                                                                                     

John’s alarm sounded and he fumbled for his mobile.  He became aware of something pinning him down.  Tensing immediately, his eyes snapped open.  It was Sherlock.  His arm and leg were draped over John, and his face was nuzzled against John’s temple.  A deep voice murmured in his ear.  “You going to turn that off, John?”  John shivered at the combination of Sherlock’s sonorous rumble and his breath tickling his ear.  He reluctantly turned his head to focus on his mobile so he could turn off the alarm. 

When the chirping finally stopped, John rested his head back down on the pillow.  Sherlock hadn’t moved.  John had never been a cuddler, or at least none of the people he’d slept overnight with had been.  He thought he would hate it, but other than that initial surprise at being pinned, he rather like the idea of someone warm and soft being draped over him.  Especially if that someone was Sherlock. 

But he knew Rosie would be waking soon, and he also had to get ready for work.  John cleared his throat.  “I’m going to need to get up, Sherlock.”

Sherlock made a rumbling noise of complaint in his ear that had every goosebump jumping to attention.  John giggled involuntarily.  “I never would have figured you for a snuggler.”

Sherlock hummed.  “I must have drifted over here during the night.  I did say I like to sleep in the middle.  My apologies.”  Very slowly, Sherlock removed his leg and then his arm. 

John felt a chill where Sherlock’s body had been.  “No need to apologize, I’m the one invading your bed.  Wasn’t exactly a hardship, anyway.  This room is slightly colder than mine, and you were warm.”

“Well, that’s good, because I’m likely to do it again.  Not something I can help.”  John liked the idea very much.  Though he was a little worried.  He didn’t wake up every day with morning wood, but it did happen frequently.  Well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.  They were adults.  He imagined Sherlock experienced it, too.  Not this morning, though.  He’d have been able to tell with the way Sherlock’s pelvis had been pressed against him. 

John flung the duvet off him, letting the cold air douse the heat of his drifting thoughts.  “I better go check on Rosie.” 

“I can get her, John.  You go ahead and take your shower.”

John nodded.  “Ta.”

The rest of the day passed normally.  John went to work, and Sherlock and Rosie spent the day together.  Sherlock told John over breakfast that she’d be helping him with an experiment that he assured him wasn’t toxic in any way.  The other employees at the clinic all congratulated John on his engagement.  None of them seemed surprised.  He knew they all assumed they were in a relationship anyway, once he’d moved back in with Sherlock.  He’d never bothered to correct them because he wanted it to be true.

When John got home, he brought take-out with him.  While Rosie gummed her noodles, Sherlock told John about how she’d helped him by using the watering can to sprinkle rainwater on numerous petri dishes containing a variety of food.  As they were clearing the table, John happened to catch notice of something that Sherlock had pinned to the wall with his knife.  It looked like an invitation.  He went over and read it.  It was addressed to both of them, and was from Peter Owens.  “Isn’t that the U.S. Ambassador?  Didn’t you interview him when you were investigating the missing letter for the Prime Minister?”

“Yep.  That came while you were at work.”    

“Why is he inviting us to dinner the night after next?”

“I had my suspicions, so I called Mycroft and he confirmed it.  It’s the Gibsons.  They can’t just show up on our doorstep, so Ambassador Owens is arranging the meeting.  The stage is now set.”

John sat down heavily in his chair.  “This is really happening.”  He swallowed hard.  “I guess there was a part of me that was hoping they would stay away.  Mourn their daughter’s death and move on.”

Rosie came up to John to show him her puzzle she’d finished.  He pulled her up into his lap and hugged her.  His heart was pounding and he felt his breathing grow unsteady.  Sherlock came over and sat down on the arm of the chair.  He put his hand on top of John’s head, and let it slide down until it was resting against John’s neck.  He squeezed slightly, and John felt a little of his tension drain away. “John, there is no need to be concerned.  When you and I work together, we’re a force to be reckoned with.  The Gibsons will look at us and they’ll see that Rosie is safe, and loved, and secure.  They’ll see a family that is so closely knit that they wouldn’t dare try to rip us apart.  They’ll see all this because it’s _true_.  So what if we have to do a little smoke and mirrors to avoid any misconceptions.”

John nodded rapidly.  “You’re right.  Of course, you’re right.  We’re a good team.  We’ll be unstoppable.”  He looked up at Sherlock, who was gazing down at him with a soft expression. 

He gave John one of his genuine smiles and leaned down to kiss him on the temple.  “We are, indeed.  I think for your day off tomorrow, we should go out and practice being a couple.  Do some of the holiday stuff around London that’s popular with families.  Lights and shops and things.”

John smirked.  “I’ll google something.  I suppose we’ll need to do the pictures with Santa.” 

Rosie yelled, “Santa!  Santa, santa, santa!”  Sherlock groaned.  Remembering the last time Sherlock ventured around a department store Santa, John dissolved into giggles. 

After Rosie went to bed, John and Sherlock negotiated the Santa thing.  They would make out a list with Rosie in the morning.  While John takes her to see Santa, Sherlock will go buy the things on the list (within reason).  John was pretty sure that Sherlock could take on even the most ruthless holiday shopper. 

They went over to the sofa for their usual bout of crap telly.  John wondered if once again Sherlock would be practically laying in his lap.  Instead, Sherlock sat down next to him.  “John, I mentioned last night I want details about what you’re comfortable with physically.  I need to know, so that we don’t mess things up when we go out tomorrow.  What are you comfortable with in public?”

John had never been one for PDA, and with other partners he’s kept it really low key.  But he didn’t want to do that with Sherlock.  He was going to damn well do whatever Sherlock would allow him to get away with.  “Well, um…keep in mind, you don’t have to do all these things if you don’t want.  I mean, I’ve had partners in the past who weren’t into it, and I respect that.  I’m just saying what I like.  Um…I definitely enjoy holding hands.  A lot.  Or putting my arm around their waist.  And kissing hello and goodbye.  And if we’re sitting down next to each other, having my arm around their shoulder.  And random pecks on the cheek or lips.  I guess that’s it.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows were way up.  “I…would not have deduced you as being that demonstrative.  I never saw you behave that way with…um, anyone.” 

“Well as I said, I am respectful of other people’s boundaries.  So, feel free to veto anything you don’t feel comfortable with.”

“Why would I veto any of it?  It’s _brilliant_.  Let’s do all of it.  But that brings me to my next concern.  Most of what you’ve said, I think I can do pretty smoothly.  But there’s one thing that I am not sure that I can do without practice.  You’ve already seen my kisses with Janine.  As I said before, some of the awkwardness was due to her being a woman and I was trying to hide my revulsion.  But some of it was inexperience with relationships.  Would you mind demonstrating to me the types of kisses that you might engage in when out in public?”

John tried very hard to keep his cool, but he was pretty much freaking out on the inside.  “Well, you’ve already done the temple kiss a couple of times.  That’s a popular one.  Then there’s the kiss on the cheek.”  He leaned over and very softly pressed his lips against Sherlock’s cheek.  Sherlock turned his head and reciprocated. 

Trying to retain an air of scientific approach, John continued his lecture.  “Now the one I would designate as the kiss hello and goodbye involves lip to lip contact that is brief and close-mouthed.  You have to be mindful of the fact that we’re public and we don’t want anyone cringing at us.”

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully.  He stood up and waved his hand to indicate John should stand as well.  “So, you and Rosie get into line for Santa and I say, ‘I’m heading off to do some shopping, John.’  And I kiss you goodbye, like this…”  Sherlock snaked one arm around his waist and pulled him in until they were flush against each other, then his absolutely amazing lips captured John’s and _clung_ to them for a few seconds, before releasing him.  “How was that?”

John had to fight really hard not to grab a fistful of Sherlock’s dressing gown and pull him back in for another kiss.  _Focus_.  Sherlock wants feedback.  “I would say that’s a bit much for public.  Fine for when we’re with friends.  I avoid embracing in public because it’s too tempting to make the kiss longer or deeper.  Just maybe a hand on the shoulder or back of the neck.  And make the lips softer, with less pressure.  That way it doesn’t make the wet sound when we break contact.  People don’t like to hear that.  I remember with you and Janine there was a lot of it.”  It frankly made his skin crawl.  “So, something like this.  ‘I’m just going to stop off at Tesco, I’ll see you at home.’”  He reached up and curved his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck, letting his fingers slightly curl into his hair, and gently pulled him down.  Their lips met, softly, for just a second or two, and then John pulled away.

Sherlock nodded slowly. “You’re right, John.  That made less noise.  But I don’t understand about the embrace.  Why wouldn’t it be okay?  It’s just a hug in addition to the kiss.”

“We could hug and then kiss or kiss and then hug, but together it’s just…  Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”  He cleared his throat.  “Umm…Sherlock, the clinic just called with an emergency.  I can’t join you for lunch.”  He reached up and looped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders, and Sherlock’s arms reflexively went around his waist.  “I’ll miss you, love.”  John went for the soft kiss as before, and after two seconds he tried to pull away.  Sherlock tightened the embrace and chased his lips, clinging with his own, extending the kiss by another five seconds.  John melted against him. 

Sherlock suddenly broke the kiss and let his arms drop, his expression thoughtful.  “I see what you mean, John.  That was the longest kiss yet, and I caught myself about to use tongue.”  John stepped back, curbing both his disappointment and the response of his body. 

Sherlock sat down.  “There’s a lot more I want to learn, but I think that this is enough to be getting on with for tomorrow’s outing.  Shall we watch telly, now?”

John nodded shakily and sat down, putting his feet up on the table.  Sherlock swung around and reclined into John’s lap as he’d done the night before.  John could get used to this.


	5. Chapter 5

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, he was pleased to note that they were still in the position he’d arranged in the middle of the night when he’d come to bed and John was sleeping on his side.  Sherlock had curled up behind him like a spoon, burying his nose in John’s hair.  He liked this position better than the one from the night before, but it had one drawback - his morning erection was pressed against John’s backside.  In more ideal circumstances, this would be a delightful way to wake John up.  But as it stands, Sherlock is attempting to _gradually_ get John used to physical intimacy with him, and this was jumping ahead far too many steps.

Sherlock moved his arm from John’s waist and attempted to shift his pelvis back a little.  John responded by also shifting his backside, wiggling it as he did so.  Sherlock almost bit his lip in half attempting to squelch the moan that threatened to escape.  Instead the air came out his nostrils, tickling the back of John’s neck.  He stiffened.  “Sherlock?” he murmured. 

“Sorry John.  I was trying to save you embarrassment by moving back, but then you started wiggling.”

“Oh!  Oh god.  Sorry!”  John moved away from him.  “Yeah, that’s not exactly going to make morning wood go away, is it?”

“No problem, John.  As soon as I stand up and walk around a bit, it should be fine.”

“Really, that works for you?  I wish it was that easy for me.”

“Usually it only works if I’m thinking about a case.  Otherwise I have to wank in the shower.”

There was a long pause.  “So you do in fact wank?”

Sherlock frowned.  “Um…yes, of course.”

John huffed a laugh.  “Sorry.  I just...didn’t know if it was like the whole thing where you ignore the need to eat and sleep.  I wondered if it was the same with other…urges.”

Sherlock felt déjà vu from when he was trying to solve the Ricoletti murder in his mind palace.  He’d imagined a similar conversation, one that annoyed him at the time because it distracted from the case.  Today there was no case, and it was in fact necessary to have this conversation if he wanted John to think of him sexually.  “I do wank from time to time.  Unlike eating and sleeping, it clears the head, not dulls it.”

Another pause.  “What about sex?  I honestly have no idea if…well, I still recall what your brother and Irene said about you.”

Sherlock took a deep breath.  “I may not have experience with kissing or sleeping in a bed with someone, but that doesn’t mean I’m a virgin.  In my mid-20s I had some hook ups with men who were…well…hooking me up with other things, too.  It was always quick and dirty, never romantic.  Once I was clean and building my career, I tried to get off with a few men.  I was terrible at it.  Without us both being high, I usually ended up deducing him and he’d tell me to piss off. After awhile I didn’t bother anymore.  Just get myself off.”

John didn’t say anything to this.  Sherlock looked over and saw that he looked distressed.  “John, I don’t want your pity.”

John attempted to clear his expression, poorly.  “I don’t pity you, Sherlock.  I just wish that you had better experiences with sex.”

“That sounds like pity to me.”

John turned on his side, propping his head on his hand.  “No, it really isn’t.  When you care about someone, you want the best for them.”  Sherlock almost laughed at the irony of John saying this to him.  “I still mean what I said on your birthday.  I may have been wrong about Irene, but I really believe you deserve to have love in your life.”

“I do have it, John.  All the love I need is right here in this flat with me.”  It wasn’t a lie.  It was all he _needed_.  It just wasn’t all that he _wanted_.  He got out of bed, his erection having completely disappeared by this point.  “I’m going to go fetch Rosie.  I can hear her breathing has changed on the monitor.”  He fled the room and fled the conversation that had gone way too far into dangerous territory.

* 

Fortunately, the rest of the day was much less awkward.  Sherlock had about as much fun as it was possible to have in crowds full of people Christmas shopping.  During the moments when he was with John and Rosie, he had a terrific time playing the doting lover and father.  It was exhilarating getting to touch John as often as he wanted, and John didn’t seem to mind a bit.  In fact, he was touching Sherlock just as frequently.  It was just as Sherlock had deduced – John _was_ craving affection all this time, denying himself for the sake of Rosie’s security.  Sherlock was very hopeful that they’d be able to continue in this vein once the threat of the Gibsons was out of the way.

Sherlock had also quite enjoyed getting the things on Rosie’s list while John stood in the Santa line.  He knew how to manipulate people.  He’d become more skilled with it over the years – exerting just enough pressure to get what he wanted without suffering any backlash.  John admitted to him later that he’d been waiting for a text from Sherlock that said he’d been banned from the store.  When they met up and Sherlock told him he got everything on the list and had it delivered to Mrs. Hudson’s flat (without receiving so much as a glare from store security), John had pulled him down and gave him a quite thorough kiss.  Sherlock didn’t point out that it went way beyond John’s stated preferences for public kissing.

They’d gone home for a few hours so Rosie could nap, and now they were out again at Hyde Park attending some twinkling light display.  John was on his third rum-laced hot cocoa and he was being extremely affectionate, both with Rosie and Sherlock.

Sherlock felt his mobile vibrate and he checked it.  There were a number of twitter notifications.  Apparently, people were taking sneaky pics of them and posting them on twitter.  He scrolled through and was relieved to note that none of them included Rosie.  He showed them to John.  “This is an unexpected development, but it works for our plan.”

John grinned at the pictures.  “Look at us!  We’re so cute.”  He giggled.  Sherlock tried not to smile.  He wasn’t sure whether he should cut off John’s supply of spiked cocoa or get him another.    

Rosie tugged on his leg.  “Daddy, I wanna see!”  John showed her the pictures.  “Awwwww, so cute!” 

John giggled even harder and he swung her up into his arms.  “ _You’re_ cute, Rosie.”

She whipped her head back and forth.  “No!  Papa cute!”

John looked over at Sherlock and winked.  “He certainly is, Rosie.”

Sherlock tried very hard (and failed) not to flush red.  He took his mobile back and checked the time.  “We should get home, John.  We don’t want her to miss her bedtime.”

John nodded forlornly.  “She’s been doing well sleeping through the night.  She hasn’t even woken me up the last two nights.  I thought she’d miss me.”

Sherlock shook his head.  “No, John, she has missed you.  I’ve been going in myself to get her back to sleep.”

John’s eyes widened.  “What?”

“She woke up crying and calling for you the other night, but I got her back to sleep with Mr. Bee.  Last night she didn’t cry, just called for you and then for me.  I went in and gave her Mr. Bee again and she settled right down.  She’s doing better than I expected.  I predict tonight if she wakes up, she won’t even call for us.”

John smiled.  “You took care of it for me?  I totally thought I’d have to go back to getting up multiple times a night like when she was a baby.”

“Which is why I handled it.  You need more sleep than me, John.  You need to be well-rested to take care of your patients and take care of Rosie and me.”

John gave him a warm look.  He sighed and said, “I’m a lucky man.”

The redness came back.  Sherlock cleared his throat.  “Home, John.  Let’s go.”  He led the way to the street so they could get a cab.

Rosie conked out halfway through her story book.  It _had_ been a long and full day.  When they got back downstairs, Sherlock could tell that John’s buzz had worn off.  This was good.  They had to discuss how it would go with the Gibsons tomorrow night, and John would be at work all day. 

John groaned as he sat on the sofa and put his feet up.  Sherlock arranged himself in his lap as he had the previous two nights.  John immediately put his hand in Sherlock’s hair and started stroking it.  Perhaps he was still a little buzzed.  John sighed.  “I suppose we need to discuss tomorrow night.  Do you think we should pretend like it’s a surprise to us?”

“I’d say play it by ear.  They have to at least suspect that we know, based on our coincidental engagement announcement.”

“True.  At least the adoption appears to have happened ages ago, thanks to Mycroft.”

Sherlock wrinkled his nose.  He hated being reminded of the favors Mycroft does for him.  “We seem to be doing a great job of convincing people we’re a couple, based on the twitter sightings.”

“Mmmm, yeah.  I think we should keep our interactions with the Gibsons the same as what we did today.  They’re older and wouldn’t appreciate too much PDA.  I suppose once they reveal who they are, they’ll want to arrange a meeting with Rosie.  We can invite them to come the next day.”

“Friday?  That’s a good day to do it.  Mrs. Hudson will be cooking all day for the party and the building will smell very homey.”

“Shit, I almost forgot we were having friends over Friday night.  Do you think we should invite the Gibsons?”

“It’s the polite thing to do, but they won’t accept. I’m quite sure they don’t plan to make their connection to Rosie public knowledge.” 

“Oh.  Right.  But wait, if they do try to take custody from us, how would they explain to the world who she is to them?”

“They’ll make up something, like she’s the orphan child of a close family friend or something.  But it doesn’t matter what lie they’d tell, because they’re not going to take custody.”

Sherlock felt John take several deep breaths.  “Okay, so we invite them to meet Rosie and tour the flat.  Nana Hudson will charm their socks off.  They’ll decline our invitation to the party, so we will then invite them to spend Christmas with Gramma and Grampa Holmes.”

“Which they will accept because we’ll assure them that my parents are discreet.  They’ll get to see the family home, and how much my parents love Rosie.  Uncle My will be there with Molly, to demonstrate that Rosie is being well-protected by the most powerful man in the British government, and that she gets plenty of maternal love from her godmother and frequent babysitter.”

Sherlock felt some of the tension leave John.  “Sounds almost foolproof,” he said hopefully. 

He didn’t want to burst John’s bubble, but it wouldn’t do to have a false sense of security.  “John,” he said softly, “there’s the possibility that it won’t matter to them how loved and safe she is here.  We have no idea how they will react to seeing this little girl who resembles their daughter so much, and even has her name.  They haven’t seen their Rosamund in over two decades, and never will again.  They might decide they want a second chance to raise a daughter who won’t abandon them this time.” 

John didn’t say anything.  His breath hitched.  Sherlock sat up and took his hand.  “I know that was a bit not good to say, I just don’t want you to let your guard down with these people.”

John gave him a haunted look.  “Would they really be so cruel?  Take Rosie away from the people she loves?”

Sherlock rubbed his thumb against the back of John’s hand.  “Gibson is a very rich, very powerful man.  You don’t achieve those things without being very ruthless and self-serving.”  John huffed out a long breath.  Sherlock squeezed his hand.  “But you know who else is ruthless and self-serving?  _Me_.”

John gave him a tiny smile.  “You’re not self-serving.  More like self-sacrificing.”

“I think doing whatever it takes to protect the people I love is very self-serving.”

John regarded him contemplatively.  “You know, I try not to think about it too much, but some of the things you’ve done…  You’re really a very scary man.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  “I take that as a compliment.”  John giggled.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning when John’s alarm went off, he discovered that it was his turn to be sporting wood.  It might have something to do with the fact that he was the one draped on Sherlock this time, with his face buried in Sherlock’s neck and breathing in his delightful scent.  He peeled himself off so that he could reach the mobile.  He turned off the alarm, laying there a few seconds while he mustered up the energy to get out of bed.  He was startled when he felt Sherlock curl up against him.  “You can’t leave, you’re too warm,” he murmured by way of explanation.  His voice was rumbly with sleep, and it was having quite an effect on John’s erection.

“Be… _ohh_ , be that as it may, I have to get ready for work.”

John jerked a little when he felt Sherlock’s nose graze his ear.  “You are a cruel man, John Watson.”  John suppressed a shudder. Not as cruel as you, Sherlock Holmes, he thought.  John stuck his leg out from under the duvet and planted his foot on the floor, using it to lever the rest of his body out from under Sherlock’s grasp.  He practically ran to the bathroom.  He needed a shower, _now_.

*

John was almost glad that it was flu season and that the clinic was inundated with cranky patients.  He had little time to spare a thought to their dinner tonight.  But all too soon, work was done and he went home to get ready. 

They took Rosie to Molly’s flat.  Mycroft was there, and also some discreetly placed operatives.  It had been Mycroft’s idea.  It was his job, he said, to be paranoid.  He didn’t want to take the chance that the Gibsons might try something while they were at dinner.  John gave Rosie an extra long hug before releasing her to Molly’s tender care.  As they climbed back into the waiting cab, Sherlock crowded against John, holding his hand.  John felt glad for the reassurance.

The ambassador answered the door and invited them in.  He led them to a cozy room with a giant fireplace and books lining two walls.  There were three people standing near the fire.  Owens introduced his wife, Brenda, then Senator Neil Gibson and his wife Grace.  They all shook hands.  When John saw Grace, he was struck by how much she looked like her daughter.  The eyes and the mouth, mostly.  She was petite, with dark brown hair.  He kept his expression blank when she smiled at him.  He realized it was also reminiscent of Rosie.  When he turned to Neil Gibson, he could see where Mary had gotten her direct, assessing gaze.  The senator was tall, barrel-chested, and had a thick greying beard. 

Ambassador Owens commented that the Gibsons were here for both business and pleasure.  Senator Gibson explained, “Trade negotiations with the UK.  All very boring, since we’re allies with mutual interests.  But we do have to dot the i’s and cross the t’s.”  

Grace gave them a dazzling smile.  “And I tagged along because it’s been so long since I’ve experienced a British Christmas.  My parents died when I was a young woman, so we’ve never really had a reason to come back here for the holidays.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Gibson.  Though I do understand.  My parents have been gone a long time, and I don’t remember the last time I went up north where I grew up.”

Her eyes widened.  “Oh dear, your parents, too?  So, your daughter doesn’t have _any_ grandparents?”

John blinked.  Alrighty then.  They’ve been here barely five minutes.  Sherlock spoke up.  “Well, actually she does.  I’ve adopted Rosie, so legally my parents are her grandparents.  And they adore her.”

The senator gave his wife an annoyed look, then smiled at the ambassador.  “Mr. and Mrs. Owens, would you mind if we had some privacy?”

“Of course, Senator!  Brenda, let’s go make sure everything is ready for dinner.”  They swiftly left the room.

As soon as the door closed, Gibson turned to them.  “When I asked the Owens to invite you, I told them I had some personal business I wished to discuss.”

Sherlock smiled blandly.  “A case?”

Gibsons smile was even blander.  “I might have implied that to them.  But before we get into that, please allow me to congratulate you on your very recent engagement.”

Grace beamed.  “You make such a lovely couple.  And proposing at Christmas-time, how romantic!”

John cleared his throat and took Sherlock’s hand.  “Yes, well, we’re practically married anyway.  It’s merely a formality at this point.”

The senator nodded gravely.  “And it’s considered polite to wait at least a year after your first spouse has died.”

John gaped at him.  He looked over at Sherlock, who was gazing at the senator with narrowed eyes. “John, remind me later to tell Mycroft that his American friend still owes him a big one.  He wasn’t doing the favor for _Mycroft._  He was doing it for Senator Gibson.”

John spluttered, “Wait, _what_?” as the senator barked out a laugh.

Sherlock waved a hand.  “I should have figured it out sooner when it seemed like Mycroft’s informant knew a lot of details.  He was fed the information by Senator Gibson.” 

Grace stepped forward.  “Don’t be too angry with Neil.  As soon as he realized your connection to Mycroft Holmes, it seemed the best way to prepare you.  We didn’t want to just show up and spring it on you that we’re Ros…um…your wife’s parents.”

The senator chuckled.  “I also wanted to see how you would react.  Very interesting that the first thing you did was announce your engagement.”

Sherlock lifted his chin.  “As John said, it was merely a formality.  We’ve been a family a while now, in every sense of the word.  I am committed to being by John’s side for the rest of my life.  The engagement was just to make it clear to any…doubters.”

John was still annoyed at the crack the senator made.  “Look, there’s something else I want to make clear.  I know that it seems like all this happened quickly after Mary’s death.  But Sherlock and I have been close a long time.  It didn’t become romantic until after she was gone.  Anyway, I wanted that to be clear.  I didn’t just jump into a new relationship, okay?”

Grace held up her hand.  “John, it’s okay.  You must understand that this is all very fresh to us.  We’ve only just learned of her death and now it looks as if you’re replacing her.”

John huffed out a breath.  “Yes, I get it.  I don’t know if will help, but Mary wouldn’t have seen it that way.  In fact, she encouraged this.  She made a video…well.  Suffice it to say, if anything happened to her, she wanted Sherlock and I to be there for each other and for Rosie.”

Gibson gave him an appraising look.  “She made a _video_?  Typical.  That girl was always micromanaging everyone’s lives.”

Grace looked shocked.  “Neil!”

“Oh for crying out loud, Grace, I’m not going to sugarcoat the truth.  I loved our daughter, but she was always a bossy little thing.  And a narcissist.  I still can’t believe she named her daughter after herself.”

Sherlock hummed.  “In hindsight, I’m realizing she might have done that for your benefit.  As a sort of beacon, if you will.”

Gibson stroked his beard thoughtfully.  Grace put her hand on his arm.  “Darling, I think we should postpone the rest of this conversation until after dinner.  The Owens are being most kind to accommodate our meeting and we shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

The senator huffed, “Fine.  While we’re having dinner, please consider letting us meet your daughter.  It would mean a lot to us.”  It was the softest John had seen him yet.

They left the room to find the Owens, who led them to the dining room.  Over dinner they made very generic and boring conversation.  John imagined that Sherlock was silently going crazy at being forced to do the social niceties.  Between courses he rested his arm on the back of Sherlock’s chair and occasionally reached up to squeeze the back of his neck.  Sherlock would then give him a very warm look, with his special just-for-John smile. 

At the end of the meal, they retired back to the room with the fireplace.  The senator took John aside.  “I like your man, Sherlock.”  John had to suppress a shudder at how very familiar that sounded.  “He’s one of the sharpest people I’ve ever met, and doesn’t suffer fools gladly.  Of course, a man like that tends to make enemies.  Dangerous enemies.”  He gave John a significant look.

John cleared his throat.  “Yes, well.  You could also be describing your daughter.”

Gibson smirked.  “Indeed.  So you have a type, then.”

John huffed.  “Apparently.  Look, Sherlock is committed to Rosie’s safety.  It’s why he’s decided to step back from that type of work.  There are plenty of things that can occupy that great brain of his that wouldn’t involve danger.”

“Like bees.”  John turned to see that Sherlock was standing right next to him.  “If John is amenable, I want very much to move to the coast someday and raise bees.  Fascinating creatures.”

John giggled. “Oh god, don’t get him started.  He’s already got Rosie obsessed with them, too.”  He gazed at Sherlock fondly.  His heart constricted at the idea of an older Sherlock puttering around a beehive.  Would he really let John go with him? 

John put his arm around Sherlock’s waist as he looked back at the Senator.  “We were thinking you could come by the flat tomorrow and meet Rosie and see where we live.”

Gibson inclined his head.  “It would have to be the afternoon.  I have meetings in the morning.”   They agreed on a time.

After a few more minutes of idle conversation, John and Sherlock took their leave and went back to Molly’s flat.  As John collected Rosie and her things, Sherlock had a whispered conversation with Mycroft. 

When they were home and had put Rosie to bed, John made some tea.  He didn’t usually have it this late, but he needed something bracing that wouldn’t dull like alcohol.  Sherlock shuffled into the kitchen, calmly assessing this change in routine.  “So John, about tomorrow…”

John laid a hand on his chest and said gently, “No.  Not tonight.  I know you need to prepare, and we can do that tomorrow morning.  I just…can’t tonight.  Seeing these people who are so much like her.  It just…stirred up some things.  I don’t want to think about them right now, or anything else.  I just want to watch some crap telly with you and shut my brain down.  Is that okay?”

Sherlock circled his arms around John’s shoulders and pulled him in for a hug.  “Of course it’s okay, John.  Tea and telly sounds perfect.”  He kissed the top of John’s head.  “Oh.  Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.”

John giggled.  “No, it’s fine.  I suppose if it’s part of a hug, it doesn’t feel like I’m a child.”  He hummed into Sherlock’s chest.  “You’re quite good at this, you know.  Hugging.  It’s a shame that we never did it before a year ago.”

“Yes, well, we’re British men.  This is actually alarmingly forward of us.”

John giggled again, and heard the kettle click off.  He reluctantly pulled away from Sherlock and prepared the tea. 

Later, when they were in bed, thoughts of the dinner came unbidden to John’s head again.  Fisting the edge of the duvet in his hands, he hesitantly called out, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock turned to look at him.  “Hmm?”

John took a deep breath.  “Look, um…the last three mornings we’ve woken up not in the same places we fell asleep.  And you don’t seem to um…mind it.  I was wondering if…you would be okay with…”  He huffed, frustrated that he couldn’t voice what he wanted.

He could feel Sherlock’s gaze.  “You’re thinking about them again, and you want another hug.  Physical reassurance that it will be okay.”

John nodded silently.  Sherlock slid over to the middle of the bed and gathered John into his arms.  He felt cocooned in Sherlock’s warmth, and tucked his face into the crook of his shoulder.  “Thank you.”

John felt a hand slide up and down his back, leaving a trail of goosebumps.  “Goodnight, John.”

*

When Sherlock woke the next morning, he was immensely pleased to see that they were still cuddling as they had the previous night.  He’d actually fallen asleep with John, instead of getting up and working in the sitting room for several hours as he had been doing.  In fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t the only one who had fallen asleep and stayed asleep the whole night.  Rosie never fussed.  It was an extremely good development all around.  Rosie was adjusting to sleeping on her own.  John seems to have become dependent on the physical intimacy that Sherlock was providing. 

The possibility that John might stay in his bed and in his arms for the long term was quite thrilling.  He could be content like this.  Even if it never leads to sex.  He could be fine with that.  Except…except Sherlock was now realizing they both had erections this morning, and those erections were in extremely close proximity.  What should he do?  He was kind of desperate to rub against John, but that would probably completely ruin all the progress he’s made. 

There was no alarm to wake John up and get him out of bed this morning.  Sherlock should be the one to get out of bed.  But he was a weak man.  John’s erection felt really good.  In fact, it was…oh no.  John was rubbing against _him_.  He would be mortified upon waking up.  Sherlock panicked.  He shouted, “I have to get Rosie!”  He jerked himself away from John and leapt from the bed.  Sherlock fumbled for his dressing gown, as John sat up, rubbing his eyes and giving him a confused look.  “I heard her on the monitor.  It’s okay John, I’ve got it.  You go back to sleep.”  He fled the room, thankful that the cold air and his anxiety caused his morning wood to subside immediately.

 Rosie’s playgroup was this morning, so after breakfast Sherlock dropped her off and then came back to the flat.  John was up at this point, making some toast.  “Thank you so much for letting me sleep in.  And for letting me shut down my brain last night.  I promised that this morning we could have our strategy planning session.  Starting with this gratitude kiss.”  John puts his hands on either side of Sherlock’s face and kissed him.  Sherlock rested his hands on John’s hips, curling his fingers through the loops of his jeans. 

John broke the kiss, but kept his fingers on Sherlock’s face, caressing his cheek with his thumb.  “At the party tonight, I imagine our friends will be generally more okay with kissing, even open-mouthed kissing.  But it can’t go on for too long or else you’ll get cat calls and told to get a room.  As I’ve said before, do whatever _you_ feel comfortable with.  We can keep things on the same level they have been.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  “And miss out on the look on Greg’s face when he sees my tongue down your throat?  Not for anything in the world.”  Sherlock waited until John stopped giggling, then he tugged on the loops until John was flush against him, and lowered his head to kiss him.  John curled his arms around Sherlock’s neck, pressing in even more tightly.  Sherlock felt apprehensive.  It was one thing to mash lips together, but he presumed that tongue required more finesse.  He’d never even gone that far with Janine (though she’d tried).

Just as he was trying to work up some bravado, he felt John’s lips open and his tongue lick at the seam of Sherlock’s lips.  Sherlock opened for him.  John threaded his fingers into Sherlock’s hair and deepened the kiss.  Sherlock broke his hold on the loops and brought his hands around to stroke John’s back.  This was amazing.  He felt delirious and they were just kissing.  What would it be like to combine this with sex?  He recalled enjoying sex, though the memories were fuzzy from the drugs.  But this was so much more.  He theorized that emotion played some part in it. 

It felt like John was devouring him, something he’d heartily welcome, but Sherlock realized he was starting to get hard.  He broke the kiss, stepping back a little, and took a deep breath.  “That probably fell into the cat calling category.”

John had his eyes closed and he nodded.  “Yeah.  But it’ll work fine if we get caught under the mistletoe.”

“Oh, right.  I’ll keep that in mind.  Um… Was it…?  Was I…okay?”  John’s eyes popped open and he gave him a quizzical look.  “I’ve never kissed that deeply before.  Would people be able to tell?  We’re supposed to have been doing this for months.”  More than kissing, really, but Sherlock didn’t think even he was clever enough to persuade John they had to have sex in order to be convincing as a couple.

“Oh!  You were great, Sherlock.  Now that you mention it, I could sense your hesitation.  I thought it was because you weren’t really keen on doing this in the first place.”

Sherlock shook his head.  “No, it was just inexperience.  I didn’t want to do something stupid.”

John gave him a warm smile.  “It was good.  I still have a hard time with the fact that you’ve had sex, but not this before.  To me, they go hand in hand.”

Sherlock shrugged.  “That’s because you’re a romantic.”  John huffed and looked away.  Sherlock chuckled.  “For the record, I agree.  I don’t think I ever want to have that sort of sex again.  It’s definitely too…impersonal.”

Sherlock was unable to interpret John’s expression.  It seemed to start out pleased, then morphed into a wince, then settled on a gentle smile that seemed… stoical?  “Good.  That’s good, Sherlock.”  He dropped his hands from where they’d been resting on Sherlock’s shoulders.  “Well, I suppose we should go through the flat and make sure that there’s nothing that would cause the Gibsons to react negatively.  And let Mrs. Hudson know they’re coming.”

Sherlock nodded. “John?  Do you mind if I kiss you a few more times during the day?  I want it to look as natural as possible for our friends.  They’re the ones most likely to tell if we’re shamming.”  John nodded wordlessly.


	7. Chapter 7

The Senator texted that they’d just pulled up to the curb.  John hurried down the stairs in order to greet them outside.  “Hullo!  Sherlock and Rosie are upstairs in our flat.  I was wondering…how do you want to be introduced?  She’s too young to really understand much, so I leave it up to you.”

Grace gave him a soft smile.  “Oh bless you, John.  For now, just Mr. and Mrs.  Gibson.”

“Will do.  So, when we get inside, I’ll introduce you to Mrs. Hudson first.”

The senator held up his hand.  “We’d prefer not.  She might question why a U.S. Senator is visiting.”

John chuckled.  “Well, normally she’d think it was for a case.  We’ve had some very powerful people come to Sherlock for help.  But in this instance, she already knows your connection to Rosie.  She is one of the few people who knows the truth about Mary, and we told her about you when we found out.  Martha is a dear friend.  She’s our landlady, and one of Rosie’s godmothers.”

The senator raised his eyebrows.  “Rosie has more than one godmother?”

John nodded.  “Martha Hudson and Molly Hooper.  Molly is a friend, and she’s also dating Mycroft.  She knows everything as well.  Molly and Martha have both been heavily involved in Rosie’s life since she was born.  Sherlock was the godfather, and now he’s legally her father.”

He opened the door and led the way into the foyer.  “You can hang your coats here, if you like.”  As they took off their coats, Grace commented.  “What is that lovely smell?”

“Mrs. Hudson’s cooking up a storm for our party tonight.  We’ve invited some friends and siblings to celebrate the holidays.”

Grace regarded him curiously.  “Siblings?  We know about Mycroft and…well, surely you aren’t having Sherlock’s sister over?”  She looked aghast.

John’s lips compressed.  “So you know about that?  Mycroft did everything he could not to let that information see the light of day.”

Gibson gave him a smug look.  “Oh, it’s well hidden.  But something like that can never be completely covered up.  I have my resources.”

John sighed.  “Yes, well...  The other sibling who will be at the party tonight is mine.  My sister, Harry.”

Grace put her hand on her chest.  “Oh, that’s right.  But the report we read said that you were estranged.”

John would never get used to hearing powerful people pick apart his personal life.  It seemed to happen with frightening regularity.  “ _Were_ estranged.  She was an alcoholic, and in the past year she’s finally gotten it under control.  I wouldn’t let Rosie around her otherwise.  Anyway, Mrs. Hudson is through here.”  He led the way over to 221A.  He knocked on the door.  As they waited, he pointed to the door that led to 221C.  “The basement flat houses all of Sherlock’s experiments and case files.  Rosie only ever goes down there occasionally, when she helps Sherlock with something safe and educational.”

The door to 221A opened and Mrs. Hudson appeared, smiling widely.  “Mrs. Hudson, this is Senator Neil Gibson and his wife Grace.”

Mrs. Hudson held out her hands, and Grace took them.  “So lovely to meet you, dears.  I’m so sorry that it isn’t under better circumstances.  Oh, I can see the resemblance!”  She patted Grace’s hand.  “Now, I know that you’re eager to meet Rosie, and I’m swamped with cooking myself.  Did John invite you to the party, yet?  We’d love to have you.”

Grace shook her head.  “I’m sorry, but it would raise too many questions.”

Mrs. Hudson gave her an understanding nod.   “Well, I’d better dash off before I burn something.  Have fun with Rosie, she’s an absolute doll.” 

As they headed to the staircase, John paused.  “I understand you can’t come to the party, but Sherlock and I would like to invite you to spend Christmas with us at his parents’ home in the Cotswolds.  They are also aware of Mary’s past.  Although…well, they don’t know about what she did to Sherlock.  They’d take a dim view of her if they knew.”

Grace blinked at him.  “What did Rosamund do to Sherlock?”

John smiled blandly at them.  “So we did manage to keep that one secret, eh?  Well, it’s not really the time to go into that.  Think about our invitation.  For now, I believe you’ve waited long enough.  Time to meet Rosie.”  He led the way up the stairs. 

When he opened the door, Sherlock was sitting in his chair, and Rosie was sitting on her little stool in front of the coffee table, coloring in a picture.  She looked up briefly at them, then continued her coloring.  Sherlock stood and came over to them.  “She generally likes to greet people, except when she’s focused on her art.  Then she doesn’t want interruptions until she’s finished.”

John smiled.  “I wonder where she gets that from, love?” 

He glanced at the Gibsons, who hadn’t said anything.  The senator looked like he was seeing a ghost.  Grace brought her hand up to her mouth, holding in a sob.  Tears were welling in her eyes.  “She…” her voice cracked, “she looks so much like Rosamund.  Except her hair is blonde, I guess that comes from you.”

The senator chuckled.  “Rosamund was probably thrilled.  She wanted to dye her hair blonde when she was a teenager, but we didn’t let her.  I expect that was one of the first things she changed when she left.”  He looked over at his wife.  “You okay, dear?  You can’t be crying when you’re introduced.”

Grace wiped her eyes, trying to get herself under control.  “I think I’ll be okay.  If the waterworks start again, I’ll just excuse myself to get a glass of water.”

Rosie stood up and came over to them, carrying her coloring paper.  “May Cismas.”  She presented it to Grace.

Grace gave her a wobbly smile and took the paper.  It was a candy cane, with jagged slashes of red and white.  “Do you like candy canes, dear?”  Rosie nodded enthusiastically.

John cleared his throat.  “Rosamund Mary Watson, meet Mr. and Mrs. Gibson.”  Rosie gave them a little curtsey, and Grace giggled.  “Rosie, would you like to show the Gibsons your room?”

“Yes!” she shouted, and raced for the stairs.  John was thankful her vocabulary wasn’t big enough that she’d be able to tell them that, until quite recently, it had also been his room.  John held out his hand, and Sherlock took it, and they followed the Gibsons up the stairs.

After Rosie’s room, they were shown the kitchen and the main bedroom.  As they came back into the sitting room, John smiled and shrugged. “It’s cozy.”  He offered them a seat and went into the kitchen to start the kettle for some tea. 

Sherlock and the Gibsons sat down.  Rosie started a new coloring page.  They made small talk while John set up the tea tray.  When the tea was made, he carried the tray into the sitting room and set it on the coffee table next to where Rosie was coloring an outline of a sprig of holly.  She immediately snatched a biscuit. 

The senator glanced up at the smiley face on the wall.  “Are those bullet holes?”

Sherlock smirked.  “It’s an old joke.  Whenever I was between cases, I used to take my boredom out on the wall.  Not anymore, of course.  I rarely have time to be bored with a toddler.  I’ve taken up boxing if I do need to blow off steam.  There’s a gym nearby with punching bags and the occasional sparring partner.” John tried not to think about the fact that Sherlock’s arms have become rather sculpted from his new hobby. 

John served everyone their tea and they all sat back to enjoy it.  “So, Mr. and Mrs. Gibson, what do you think about coming with us to the Cotswolds?  We’re leaving tomorrow morning and coming back Boxing Day.  You’d get to spend some more time with Rosie, and meet more of her family.  In addition to Sherlock’s parents, Mycroft and Molly Hooper will be there.”

The two looked at each other, silently communicating.  Grace looked back at John and smiled.  “We’d love to, John.  Thank you so much.  It just so happens that I have an old school chum who owns an inn out there.  We can stay there and come over whenever you’re up for visitors.”

John smiled.  “Excellent.”  He sipped his tea.  Things seemed to be going well so far.  Rosie finished coloring in the holly and went over to Grace, climbing in her lap to show her.  She looked surprised and then enchanted with Rosie’s babbled explanation of the picture.  She reached her hand up and stroked the back of Rosie’s head.  The senator looked at them, his mouth scrunched in a way that indicated he was fighting back emotions.

After a while, Rosie’s eyes started drooping and she yawned.  Grace chuckled.  “I’m thinking it’s time for her nap?”

John looked at his watch.  “Yeah, I guess it is.”  He stood up.  “Would you like to carry her upstairs?”

Grace beamed.  “Of course!”  She carefully got to her feet, propping Rosie on her hip.  She followed John up the stairs to Rosie’s room and then placed her in the cot.  Rosie snuggled up to Mr. Bee, and Grace put her blanket over her.

They went down the stairs.  Sherlock and the senator were standing near the entrance to the flat.  “We should get going, Grace, if we’re going to make arrangements to be in the Cotswolds tomorrow.”

She nodded and went to get her handbag from the sofa.  John escorted them down to the first floor, where they put on their coats.  Grace turned to John and took his hand.  “Thank you so much for introducing us to Rosie.  She is a darling!  I’m looking forward to spending more time with her.  We’ll let you know when we’ve checked into the inn tomorrow.  I can’t believe it’ll be Christmas Eve!  Time does fly.  Enjoy your party tonight!”

John nodded. “Ta!”

Their hired car pulled up and they got in.  John went back upstairs to 221B.  As soon as he entered the flat and had closed the door, Sherlock had him pinned to the door.  “Mistletoe,” he said, glancing up.  John looked up and saw the sprig hanging from the door frame.  Sherlock captured his lips, and this time it was his tongue that sought entry.  John suppressed a moan, telling himself this was just practice.  He wasn’t meant to be enjoying it that much.  When Sherlock lifted his head, his pupils were wide.  He took a deep breath.  “That went well, I think.”

John attempted to steady his breathing.  “The Gibsons or the kiss?”

Sherlock smirked.  “Both.”  He lowered his head again, sliding his lips against John’s in a caress.  “I think we’re getting pretty good at this.”  Sherlock increased the pressure, bringing his hand up cup John’s face.  John was pretty sure that a sexually confident Sherlock was going to be the death of him.  Especially if Sherlock decided to explore it with someone else once the Gibsons were gone.  Just because John had decided never to date again, didn’t mean Sherlock was prohibited from it.  After all, they weren’t actually getting married. 

John thought he felt something against his hip, and wondered for a moment if Sherlock was getting an erection.  But then Sherlock stepped back, breaking the kiss.  John realized that he’d had his hands fisted in the lapels of Sherlock’s suit jacket.  He let go, and winced when he saw it was now horribly wrinkled.  “Oh.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay, John.  I was planning to change anyway.  Go more casual for tonight’s party.”

Oh god oh god oh god.  Sherlock was going to wear _jeans_.  He very rarely wore jeans, and when he did it was a sight to behold.  John grinned.  “Speaking of which, we should start rearranging things while Rosie’s still asleep.”


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock sat in his chair, perusing the cold cases that Lestrade had brought him as a Christmas present.  He was vaguely aware of music and talking and general merriment going on around him, but none of it was as interesting as this odd case of a circus lion that killed his trainer and disfigured the trainer’s wife.  The police thought there was more to it than a tragic accident, which very much surprised Sherlock as the police usually go for the easiest solution.

He felt something tickling his ear.  It was John’s lips.  “Your guests are feeling ignored, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smirked.  “They’re feeling relieved that they aren’t being subjected to my deductions.”

John embraced Sherlock from behind.  “Speaking of deductions, I want your take on Harry’s girlfriend, Robin.”

Sherlock looked up and scanned the room for Harry.  He saw her on the sofa, gazing adoringly at the woman next to her.  Given her resemblance to John, Sherlock found himself wondering if John had ever looked that besotted.  Not even Mary put that look on his face.  Sherlock forced himself to concentrate on the other woman.  “She’s a veterinarian.  Owns two cats and a dog.  The dog is rather large, and has taken a fancy to Harry.  They’re both covered in its fur.  She’s a teetotaler, always has been.  Comes from a large family and is close to all of them.  Harry’s going to spend Christmas with them.  Robin is very much in love with Harry, and your sister hasn’t had even the slightest urge to drink all night.”

Sherlock waited for John to say something, and when he didn’t, Sherlock twisted around to see what was the matter.  John was staring over at his sister, tears in his eyes.  “John, I thought you’d be pleased.  Tell me what I said wrong.”

John huffed out a laugh and looked down at Sherlock.  “I am pleased.  I’m so happy for her.”  He sniffled, and then he leaned over and gave Sherlock a soft kiss.  Then he straightened up and made his way over to Harry and sat down next to her.  Sherlock watched as the three of them chatted.  Harry said something to John, glancing over at Sherlock.  John blushed, and looked his way, giving him a warm smile. 

Sherlock closed the case file he’d been reading and set it aside.  He went over to the sofa and sat down very close to John, flush against him.  John and Harry had started singing loudly to an old Christmas song, likely a favorite of theirs as a child.  Sherlock didn’t recognize it – probably deleted it.  John was smiling widely as he sang, and snapping his fingers.  “He'll have a big fat pack upon his back, and lots of goodies for you and for me.  So leave a peppermint stick for old St. Nick, hanging on the Christmas tree.  It's the holiday season, so hoop-de-do and dickory dock.  And don't forget to hang up your sock.  Cause just exactly at 12 o'clock, he'll be coming down the chimney down.”

By this point, most of the others at the party had started to sing along.  “Happy Holiday!  Happy Holiday!  While the merry bells keep ringing, Happy Holiday to you!”  When the song was over, everyone clapped, and John and Harry stood up and bowed. 

When they sat back down, John gave Sherlock a fond look, flushing with happiness.  “Harry and I always loved singing this song together growing up.  People would play it over and over because they knew we couldn’t resist.”

“Interesting song.  What I want to know is why he’s telling us to hang up our socks?  Do they get wet for some reason?”

John giggled, which Sherlock was hoping for.  He wasn’t an idiot, he knew it was a stocking.  John leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, then threw his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders.  His hand rested on the curve and periodically squeezed it.  Sherlock barely registered that Sally Donovan sat down on the arm rest next to him.  He wondered if John invited her.  He was surprised she’d actually come.  “Hey there, Sherlock.  I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you wear denim.  You should do it more often, you look _really_ good.”

Sherlock was still recovering from this unexpected development, when John leaned over and glared at her.  “Back off, he’s mine.”

Sally tipped her head back and laughed.  “Oh come on, John.  I don’t actually want to get _into_ those jeans.  He may have an amazing arse, but this is still Sherlock we’re talking about.  Not even remotely interested.”  John narrowed his eyes.   Her smile disappeared and she folded her arms.  “No, seriously, John.  I wouldn’t do that to Greg.  He’s been through enough shit with his cheating wife.”

Sherlock gave her a horrified look as the reason for her presence clicked.  “You came with Lestrade.  You’re _shagging_ him.”

She raised her eyebrows.  “Oi!  I’m doing way more than shagging him.  We’re in a proper relationship.”

“But he’s your superior.  You could get in a lot of trouble.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Do you two ever pay any attention to anything but yourselves?  I’m a D.I. now.  As soon as my promotion came through last month, I went into Greg’s office and had him right there on the desk.  Been waiting to do that for years.”

Sherlock stared at her in shock.  John snapped his fingers in front of him.  “Oh god, I think you broke him.”

Sherlock huffed and glared at him.  “I’m not broken.  I’m just trying to figure out how I missed all this.”

Sally smirked.  “I guess you can’t read me as well as you thought.  It’s ironic, since I could read the two of you like a child’s story book.  Your engagement came as absolutely no surprise to me.”  Her smirk softened.  “Congratulations, by the way.  I really am happy for you.”  She stood and walked over to the drink table.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut in order to delete the mental image of Sally and Greg going at it on a desk.  When he opened them, he looked over at John, who had a dopey smile on his face.  “Are you okay?”

“I’m brilliant.  I just think it’s great to see all these people so happy.  Sally and Greg.  Harry and Robin.  Mycroft and Molly.  It’s pretty rare to see this many happy couples.” 

Mrs. Hudson came over.  “Sherlock, would you please play something on your violin?”  Normally Sherlock would have grumbled a bit, but he stood immediately.  John’s happy couple comment had left him feeling melancholy.  He found himself wishing illogically that whatever magic had been bestowed on their friends would happen to him as well. 

He wanted to play something that fit his mood, but the others might not appreciate it.  He compromised with All I Want for Christmas is You.  It was the right choice.  Everyone looked delighted and surprised that Sherlock would play a popular song.  John was grinning from ear to ear.  When Sherlock finished, everyone clapped and cheered.  John came over to him and pointed up.  Sherlock already knew what it was.  Mistletoe. 

Sherlock set his violin aside.  If he couldn’t actually be a happy couple, he could at least play the part.  Sherlock pulled John to him, then anchored his fingers in John’s hair as he swept down to devour John’s lips.  John didn’t even hesitate, opening up for him as if he were just as hungry for Sherlock as he was for him.  John’s hands went to Sherlock’s hips, then drifted to his backside and into the pockets of his jeans.  When John squeezed his hands slightly, Sherlock was unable to stop a moan.  Fortunately, it was drowned out by whoops and cat calls.

When they finally broke apart for air, Sherlock glanced around for Lestrade.  He hadn’t been joking earlier when he said he wanted to see the look on his face.  Greg was gobsmacked.  It was good revenge for Sally’s remark earlier.  Sherlock caught Mycroft’s eye, who was giving them a knowing smirk.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  His brother knew what was really going on, so why the look?  Had he deduced Sherlock’s feelings for John?  Probably.  Hell, he likely had known before even Sherlock knew.  Sherlock fought the urge to sulk.  He looked back down at John and winked, then picked up his violin again and played a more traditional song – Joy to the World. 

When he finished to more applause, Lestrade stepped forward and held up his hands.  “I’ve been asked to speak on behalf of everyone in wishing you hearty congratulations on your engagement.”  There was another round of applause.  “Also, the folks at the Yard all pitched in to get you a gift which we think you will enjoy.”  He tossed a red and green box at John, who deftly caught it.  He opened it and pulled out a bottle of lube and condoms.  Everyone laughed.  “Kidding!  We’re getting you something really nice, but you’ll just have to wait until the wedding.  So get cracking on setting that date.  We want to see you _finally_ have your happily ever after.  Cheers!”  He held up his glass and everyone held up theirs and took a drink.

Someone handed Sherlock a cup of something and he took a big gulp.  He wanted happily ever after, too.  No, what he wanted was for everyone to leave, because he’d had about enough of all this.  Everyone was too happy.  _He’d_ been happy (or at least content) because he had John back, and Rosie as a bonus, and that had been enough.  But now thanks to Mary’s parents and Mycroft’s stupid plan, it _wasn’t_ enough.  He took another big gulp, trying to think of where he could get some time alone without it looking suspicious.  He wanted to just leave altogether -  go to Regents Park or Bart’s - but he’d learned to curb these impulses for John’s sake.  He looked around, and noticed a tray with one mince pie left on it.  He grabbed the tray, stuffed the pie in his mouth, and dashed down the stairs to Mrs. Hudson’s flat on the pretext of getting more.

When he entered her kitchen, he was annoyed to see that Molly was there filling up a tray with fairy cakes.  “Oh!  Hi Sherlock.  Did you need something?”

He set the tray on the kitchen table.  “Fetching more mince pies,” he said sullenly.

She giggled.  “You’re actually helping?”  She gave him an assessing look.  “ _Oh_.  You’re escaping the crowd.  I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did.  I suppose it was Greg’s toast that set you off.”

Sherlock huffed.  She was way too good at this.  Molly started to say something else, but he held up his hand.  “If you don’t mind, I’m really not in the mood to talk.”  She pressed her lips together and then nodded.  She reached up and squeezed his arm, then took the tray of fairy cakes upstairs.

He sat down and took deep breaths.  He leaned his forehead down onto the table.  Aloud he whispered, “Caring is not an advantage.  Caring is not an advantage.  Caring is not an…advantage.”  His voice cracked on the third round.  How many times has Mycroft told him this over the years?  How many times has he told himself?  The truth of it has been proven to him over and over.  He cared for John Watson, and people who wanted to hurt Sherlock used that to their advantage.  He’d also learned how much it hurt when it wasn’t reciprocated.  He kept trying to manage it by focusing on John’s safety and happiness, but it just kept carving deeper and deeper wounds.  He’d also been wrong to think that the increased physical intimacy would make him happier.  All it did was make him crave more.  He wanted John to really want him, not see him as convenient for when he needed affection.

Sherlock slapped the table top and growled, lifting his head.  This self-pity was doing him absolutely no good.  He’s made his bed.  So what if he wanted more, wanted everything?  He wasn’t going to get it, and he wasn’t too proud to take what he _could_ get.   He took a deep breath, threw some mince pies onto the tray, and went back upstairs.

*

When the last guest had left, John went to the building next door to fetch Rosie from Mrs. Turner.  Sherlock got ready for bed, wondering how it was going to go tonight.  Last night they’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms because John had needed comforting.  He wanted very much to do the same thing again tonight. 

He went into the bedroom and saw that John was back and stripping down to his vest and boxers - his usual sleepwear.  “Rosie barely woke on the way to her room and settled into her cot perfectly.  I’m relieved.  Now she’ll get a full night’s sleep and the drive tomorrow won’t be a nightmare.”  John went into the bathroom to brush his teeth.  Sherlock got into bed and fidgeted with the duvet until John came back into the room and climbed into bed.  “I think she’ll have a good time at your parents.  Lots of people and presents, and nooks and crannies to explore.  Plus, she can run around in the yard to let off steam.  Although, I am a bit sad that our original plan had to be scrapped.  I was looking forward to a quiet Christmas with just the three of us in the flat.”

Sherlock nodded in agreement.  “Next year, John.”

John grinned at him.  “Absolutely.”  He budged down so that he was laying prone and pulled the duvet up under his chin.  His smile died and he became pensive.  “I admit I’m a little apprehensive about seeing the house again.  I’ll be reminded of that bloody awkward reconciliation with Mary, and then you and I leaving everyone drugged to go after Magnussen.”

“We’ll replace those memories with happier ones, John.”  John sighed and nodded reluctantly.  Sherlock bit his lip, wondering if this was his chance to get in some cuddling.  “I know this is stressful.  Would you…would you like a hug?”

John’s eyes darted to him.  Sherlock couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if there was a flicker of panic before his expression shuttered.  “No!  No, I’ll be fine.  I don’t think…  It’s just that a lot happened today, and the two of us were…um...it was a lot to take in and I just want to get some sleep.”

Sherlock nodded, keeping his expression blank even as his insides felt icy cold.  “Very well.  Goodnight.”  He turned to face the opposite direction and pulled the duvet up over his shoulders.  He waited until he heard John’s breathing deepen with sleep, then he left the bed and put on his dressing gown.  When he went out to the sitting room, he curled up on the sofa and hugged his knees to his chest. 

So now it was confirmed that John _does_ have a limit when it comes to accepting affection from Sherlock.  He pretty much said that today had been too much and even a hug was off-putting at this point.  It put to rest any secret hopes that John might eventually be amenable to sex.  It was so confusing.  John seemed to really enjoy their kissing.  Maybe he was imagining someone else so that he could get through it.  Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, willing that depressing thought away.

Once this ordeal with the Gibsons was over, they would probably drop the kisses altogether and then maybe John would be more comfortable with the cuddling in bed.  Assuming he’d want to keep sleeping in Sherlock’s bed.  He really didn’t seem to mind it and it was much more convenient for him.  A part of Sherlock protested that he shouldn’t be so keen to settle for scraps of John’s affection.  But as Sherlock drifted off to sleep, he knew that he didn’t care.  He would take anything John was willing to give.


	9. Chapter 9

When John’s alarm went off, he quickly turned off his mobile and then looked over at Sherlock’s side of the bed.  It was empty.  He’d woken up alone yesterday morning as well, and he found that he missed having Sherlock in his arms.  He wished now that he’d agreed to the hug last night so he could have gotten _some_ cuddling in.  It was just at the time he wasn’t sure of his ability to keep things platonic.  They’d done a lot of heavy kissing throughout the day and everything was making him think of sex – even the ‘helpful’ gift of lube and condoms from Greg.  He’d been sure that if Sherlock so much as laid one finger on him, he’d snap and start humping his leg. 

With a sigh, John got out of bed.  He heard noise in the kitchen, so he went to investigate.  Sherlock was feeding Rosie her breakfast.  “Daddy!”  She gave John a toothy grin, her mouth covered in cereal. 

He kissed her on the top of her head, then did the same to Sherlock.  “I suppose while you’re feeding her, I should pack her things for the trip.  If she’s there when I do it, she’ll insist on packing every one of her toys.”

“Wish I’d have thought of that.  We packed earlier and she did in fact manage to negotiate most of the toys into her bag.” 

John giggled.  “Alright, I’ll take a shower, then.”  He squeezed Sherlock’s shoulder before heading off to the bathroom.

Soon they were all dressed and fed and packed and ready to go.  They wished Mrs. Hudson a good Christmas with her sister, and then they were off to the Cotswolds.  Normally it would be a two-hour drive, but they had to stop for lunch and numerous bathroom breaks.

When they arrived at the Holmes residence, Sherlock’s mother came bustling out of the house, a wide smile on her face.  Rosie shouted, “Gamma!” 

Mrs. Holmes opened the back door and unbuckled her from the car seat.  “Oh you darling girl!  Merry Christmas, sweetheart.  And to you, Sherlock and John.”  She carried Rosie into the house.  John chuckled as he climbed out of the car. 

They brought in their luggage and Christmas gifts while Mrs. Holmes had Rosie in the kitchen decorating gingerbread men.  When the car was unloaded, John came into the kitchen to help while Sherlock went to find his father.  After about an hour, Mycroft and Molly arrived.  By this time, it was late afternoon and Mrs. Holmes began making dinner.   John and Molly helped.  Including the Gibsons, there’d be 8 adults and a child at the table tonight.  Sherlock and Mycroft were tasked with getting the table extended and setting it with dishes and Mr. Holmes made the valiant effort of putting Rosie down for a nap (unsuccessful due to excitement and amount of icing she’d consumed).

Sherlock popped his head in at one point to say that the Gibsons had called to let him know that they arrived at the inn and would be over in time for dinner.  It was the first time they’d been mentioned since arriving.  Molly and Mrs. Holmes looked over at John.  He told them about the dinner they’d had, the tour of the flat, and his impressions of them so far.  Molly said she’d googled them.  Grace Gibson did a lot of humanitarian work.  The two of them had met while she was working for the Peace Corps and he was investigating an allegation related to one of his gold mines.  She apparently had a lot of influence on him, and encouraged him into politics.  Since their daughter ‘died’ and they had no heirs, they were planning to set up a trust that would provide funding to selected non-profits in perpetuity. 

When the Gibsons arrived, John and Sherlock went out to greet them.  The senator said that he wanted to have a word with them before they went inside to meet the family.  “I was thinking about what you told me yesterday, that Rosamund had done something to Sherlock, but his parents don’t know what it is.  I went back to my file and looked at it a bit more.  There was an incident not long after the wedding when Sherlock was shot and almost killed in the offices of Charles Augustus Magnussen.  The assailant was unknown, and the case never solved.  Kind of hard to believe that a consulting detective couldn’t solve his own attempted murder.  It was Rosamund, wasn’t it?”

Sherlock nodded.  “My parents were profoundly upset when I was shot, and I never wanted them to know the truth.”

Grace had her hand over her heart.  “Why would she do something like that?”

The senator sighed.  “I’m guessing it has to do with Magnussen and his hobby of collecting people’s secrets.”

John’s breath hitched.  “He knew she was an assassin and threatened to reveal her identity.  She went there to kill him.  Sherlock was also there to retrieve some letters for a client of his.  It was entirely a coincidence.  I was downstairs when Sherlock…”  He wasn’t able to continue.

Sherlock picked up the story.  “I walked in on her with Magnussen.  I told her we could work it out.  She didn’t want me to stop her or tell John, so she shot me.”

Grace gave a soft gasp.  The Senator shook his head, looking confused.  “Well she didn’t kill Magnussen then.  Was she the one who shot him at Appledore?  I didn’t see her on the video footage, but it was clearly doctored.”        

John looked at Sherlock, who shook his head.  “No, I was the one who shot him.  It turns out he didn’t have any documentary proof of what he knew about Mary.  His brain was where he stored all his facts, so I put a bullet in it.”

The senator stared at him in amazement.  “You did that for her, even though she shot you?”

“I did it for John.  Because I love him, and I made a promise to him at his wedding to keep his family safe.  I ultimately failed.”

John felt his stomach clench.  “Sherlock, we’ve been over this.  You didn’t know you were making that promise to a former assassin.”

“I would have made it anyway.”

John was about to reply, but Mycroft stepped out of the house.  “Mummy is wondering if perhaps you got lost on the way to the front door.  Senator and Mrs. Gibson.  Lovely to meet you.  I’m Mycroft Holmes.”

John watched as the senator and his wife transformed their features from grief and shock to cool politeness.  Mycroft led them through the front door.  Sherlock was about to follow, but John grabbed his hand.  “Sherlock…”

Sherlock turned back and shook his head.  “John, we’re always going to disagree about…well, about a lot of things when it comes to Mary.  It really doesn’t matter, it’s all in the past.  The most important thing to me is that you and Rosie are safe, and that you’ve forgiv…” John gave him a hard stare.  “…that you no longer blame me for Mary’s death.”  Sherlock squeezed his hand.  “Come on.  Let’s go charm the Gibsons with the Holmes family Christmas Eve.”        

Dinner went pleasantly enough.  Sherlock’s parents were intelligent and engaging, as was Molly, and Mycroft demonstrated his ability to balance his diplomatic skills with his Ice Man personality that made him so formidable in political circles.  After dinner, John and Sherlock put Rosie to bed in the room that used to be the nursery and was now home to various projects.  The cot was borrowed from the next door neighbors. 

The Gibsons stayed for a few drinks.  Despite the fact that everyone in the room knew they were Mary’s parents, none of them discussed her.  For some reason it seemed not right to broach the subject that first night.  Perhaps they would talk about her tomorrow.  John figured they were eager for stories – good stories.

When they left for the evening, with promises to be there for the opening of presents, John finally felt able to relax.  It had gone well.  They’d seen how happy Rosie was, how everyone doted on her.  Well…Mycroft didn’t dote per se, but it was clear that he was fond given the small niceties he allowed when she interacted with him.  John indulged in more of the mulled wine now that he didn’t have to worry about being on his best behavior. 

Mrs. Holmes put on some Christmas music and she and her husband started dancing.  Molly gave Mycroft a significant look, and with a small smile he stood and offered his hand to dance.  Feeling bold, John stood up.  “Come on, Sherlock, we can’t be the only ones not dancing.”  He knew from when Sherlock had given him dancing lessons that he really enjoyed the activity.  Sure enough, Sherlock wasn’t able to hide the light in his eyes when he nonchalantly agreed.

Their arms went around each other as if they did this all the time.  Probably because they’ve had their arms frequently around each other for one reason or another the past few days.  It had been heaven and hell.  On the one hand, John cherished these new liberties he was allowed to take.  On the other hand, he was acutely aware that Sherlock only allowed them because of the plan.  How wonderful would it feel if the reason Sherlock held him was because he craved the closeness?

John realized he’d put his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and was barely listening to the song.  Sherlock was slowly leading him around the room.  It felt so natural to dance with Sherlock.  He’d never had any inclination to do it with any of his girlfriends, not even Mary.  But she wanted the traditional first dance at the wedding, so Sherlock had offered to help.  After performing the obligatory waltz, he hasn’t danced since.  Till now.  John allowed himself a little dream of doing this again sometime.  Maybe when Sherlock is in a strop and needs a distraction.  John could take him to one of those cozy little restaurants that has a jazz band and a tiny dance floor.

The music stopped and so did Sherlock.  Reluctantly, John pulled away.  Mrs. Holmes called out, “Oh Sherlock!”  They looked over and she pointed up.  Mistletoe.  John realized they hadn’t kissed all day, not even when the Gibsons were over.  They did hold hands and Sherlock had draped his arm on John’s chair.  But no kissing.  John tried not to smile too widely in anticipation.  Sherlock rolled his eyes, then lowered his head and gave him a brief peck on the lips.  Huh.  Maybe he didn’t like to kiss in front of his parents? Or maybe he didn’t think it mattered since the Gibsons weren’t here.  Either way, John was disappointed.  There wouldn’t be many more opportunity for this.  He went to get more mulled wine. 

*

Sherlock stared up at the ceiling of his childhood bedroom, which sported a vast array of glow-in-the-dark constellations that had been hand-painted by his father.  He was pretty sure John was going to rib him about this for weeks.  John came in, having just brushed his teeth.  “I forget, where was it I slept last time we were here?”

“Mycroft’s room.  He got the room Rosie’s in now.  It’s a rule of the house that family gave up their bedrooms for guests.  But this time the guests are sleeping with the family, so no one has to give up their bed.”  John climbed into the bed, and found himself rolling until he was flush against Sherlock.  “Did I mention the mattress dips?”

John giggled.  “And it’s a double.  Looks like we have no choice about being up close and personal tonight.”

Sherlock sighed.  He’d hoped that by dialing back on all the touching and only allowing himself one small kiss, John would be okay with cuddling in bed.  Apparently, he still wasn’t keen.  “There’s always a choice, John.  I’m not tired, I’ll just go down and read or something.”  He started to get out of the bed. 

Sherlock felt John grab his arm.  “No!  You stay right there.  You need to sleep, Sherlock.  Rosie’s going to be insane tomorrow, so we have to be well-rested.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, John.  We’d be plastered against each other all night.”

John pulled him closer until he was fully back in the bed and snuggled against him.  “Good.  This house is really drafty.”

Sherlock put his arms around John.  So, it _had_ worked after all.  He felt relief.  “Goodnight, John.”

“Mmm.  Goodnight, Sherlock.”  After a long moment, when he was starting to think John had fallen asleep, he suddenly exclaimed, “Holy shit!  You have the entire night sky painted on your ceiling.  Is this why you deleted it?  Because you’d been staring at it your whole childhood?”  Sherlock felt John shaking with laughter.  He’d be more annoyed if it didn’t feel so good.  He ended up laughing along with him. 


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock was jostled awake by the feeling of something climbing up his legs.  He opened his eyes and saw that it was Rosie.  “Daddy!  Papa! May Cismas!  May Cismas!”  She flopped down between them.  John huffed as her knee landed on his stomach.  Sherlock felt a surge of love for her and folded her into his arms.  “Merry Christmas, my beautiful bee.” He kissed her and then squeezed her until she protested.  He relinquished her so that John could have his turn.  John gave her a very loud smack on the cheek, which made her giggle.  “And who was it that let you out of your cot?”

“My!  My, my, my!”  Of _course_.  The nursery was right next to Mycroft’s room and so he would have heard her wake up first.  Rosie tugged at John’s vest.  “Pesents!”

John shook his head.  “Not yet, love.  Breakfast first.”

Her eyes lit up.  “Gamma cinmon wolls.”

John moaned.  “Oh, that sounds _really_ good.”

“They _are_ really good.  So’s her coffee.  I don’t know where she gets her beans, she refuses to tell me.”  John moaned again.

There was a soft knock on the door, which was already halfway opened from when Rosie came in.  Molly stuck her head in.  “Sorry that My unleashed her on you.  Why don’t I take her down to the kitchen so you two can get up?”

John nodded.  “Ta.”  He lowered Rosie to the ground and she went barreling after Molly. John buried his face in Sherlock’s neck, and he hoped he wouldn’t feel his pulse jump.  “I really don’t want to get up, but I do feel the allure of the coffee and baked goods.”  He looked up at Sherlock and gave him a warm smile.  “Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

Sherlock’s lips may have trembled ever so slightly as he said, “Merry Christmas, John.”  John stared at his lips, and seemed to be contemplating something.  Sherlock really wanted that something to be that John wanted to kiss him.

John cleared his throat.  “Coffee.”  He threw back the covers and climbed out of bed.

*

The Gibsons had great timing. They arrived after everyone was stuffed with cinnamon rolls and coffee and rashers of bacon.  Rosie went screaming over to the Christmas tree and began jumping up and down.  Everyone took turns opening their presents. 

Sherlock gave John his gift.  It was a slim flat box, and when John opened it, the only thing in there was a business card.  He read aloud, “Mark Powell Bespoke.  Sherlock, are you buying me a suit?”

Sherlock grinned smugly. “Two suits.  One for day and one for evening.  I know you’ve always wanted bespoke, but wouldn’t justify the expense.”

John huffed.  “Yes, it is quite expensive.”

“And so worth it.  I want to see you in bespoke, John.”  He said it in a husky tone, and John immediately went red.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”  He leaned over and kissed him softly.

A few minutes later, it was Sherlock’s turn.  John handed him a box that was also slim and flat.  Sherlock raised one eyebrow and John grinned.  “I can promise you I didn’t get you the same thing.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  He jiggled the box, and felt something slide around.  A photograph.  Polaroid most likely.  “This is a picture of my gift.  Whatever it is, it wasn’t practical to transport.”

“Would you just open it, you berk.”

Given that it was a picture of something, the ability to determine what it was became almost impossible without more data.  So, he humored John and opened the box without further deductions.  It was indeed a polaroid.  He frowned at it.  “It’s a spectrometer.  A fairly basic model, but does well enough for most sample testing.  Wait a minute.”  He looked up at Molly.  “Weren’t there a dozen of these that were being replaced in the student labs at Bart’s?  They got a new grant and decided to spend the money on new spectrometers.”

Molly grinned.  “Maybe so.”

Sherlock looked over at John, who explained, “They were selling all the old ones, and even second hand they were still _really_ expensive.  But I kept thinking of how you’re always schlepping over to Bart’s just to use the spectrometer.  And I remember that time not long after we first met and you wanted to buy an old decrepit one, I told you no because there was no room for it and it made so much noise.  You sulked for weeks.  Well, now there’s plenty of room for one in 221C.”

Sherlock grinned.  “So, this is mine?  You got me a spectrometer?  _John_.”  He pounced on John and kissed him thoroughly.  “This is incredibly generous of you.”

John giggled.  “No, it’s not, I’m being entirely selfish.  It’s more time that you’ll be at home instead of Bart’s.”  Sherlock smiled even wider.  He kissed John again.  John shook his head and smiled fondly.  “I just know you’re going to be a complete pain in the ass until we get back to Baker Street and you can play with your new toy.”

Sherlock gazed down at the polaroid.  “Yep,” he said, popping the P.

The Gibsons presented Rosie with their gift.  It was a doll with blonde hair and blue eyes wearing a period costume.  Grace elaborated, “It’s an American Girl doll.  They’re very popular in the States.  This one is Kit Kittredge.  There’s a book that explains her story.”  She looked at her husband.  “Neil wanted her to have something related to her American heritage.”  Rosie hugged Grace, then the Senator, and then finally hugged her doll and gave it a kiss on the head.

John handed Grace a present.  “Mrs. Hudson and I worked on putting this together for you.  It’s a duplicate of the one we had made up for Rosie.”

Grace opened the box.  Inside was a photo album, filled with pictures of Mary.  Grace burst into tears.  Molly went over and hugged her and offered to chat over the pictures.  Grace nodded, and they went over to a corner to look at the album.   The Senator looked over at John.  “Thank you very much.  It saddens me that there’s so much of her life that we’ll never know about.  But this part that we’ll get to see…I think she would have considered it to be the only part worth remembering.”  He went over and joined Molly and Grace. 

John went with Mummy into the kitchen to start Christmas dinner.  Mycroft had to take a call.  Sherlock and his father started gathering up all the wrapping paper.  “Son,” he whispered, “I admit I’m a bit confused.  You told me that you and John were pretending to be together so the Gibsons would think of you more as a family.  But I don’t see very much pretending.”

Sherlock frowned at him.  “You don’t think we’re trying hard enough to look like a couple?”

His father chuckled.  “No, I’m saying you don’t even have to try.  You _are_ a couple and you’re very much in love with each other.”

Sherlock winced.  “Dad…”  His father gave him a stern look, but he pressed on.  “We’re just friends. Very close friends.  I consider him and Rosie to be family, it’s not romantic.”

He got another stern look.  “Tell me, how were the sleeping arrangements last night?  I can’t imagine that two grown men who are only _friends_ would have any desire to spend a second night together on that tiny, wonky mattress.  We could always move you somewhere else.”

Sherlock growled, “I’m not going anywhere.”  He stomped off, fighting the temptation to go hunt for a cigarette.

*

After dinner, John decided to go for a walk and clear his head.  Everything had been pleasant, but with the offering of the album, the ice had been broken on the subject of Mary.  Everyone was sharing their reminiscences to the Gibsons while they ate. 

It was stirring up a lot of things he’d put to rest after working very hard on it in therapy.  For the sake of her parents, he was trying to compartmentalize his feelings for her.  To concentrate on the love he’d felt for her both as the woman who put him together when he was still a mess over Sherlock, and as the mother of his child.  It was the only way he could produce fond memories of her without it being tainted by the poison of her lies and violence and abandonment and manipulations. 

John leaned against a tree, willing himself under control.  He smelled cigarette smoke, and felt a flare of anger that Sherlock had found a stash somewhere.  But when he looked around, it was Mycroft standing there.  “Do you ever think about whether or not there could have been an alternative to Sherlock faking his death?  I do.  I’ve never been able to come up with one that didn’t involve someone’s actual death.”

John glared at him.  “Of course, I did, you prick.  Once I gave up on that, I thought about what might have happened if Sherlock had come back sooner.”

“Ah yes.  That was my mistake.  One I deeply regret.  You see, I thought there was still time.  I didn’t know things had progressed with Mary quite that far.”

John’s face crumpled.  He took several steadying breaths.  “I want the truth, Mycroft.  Did you propose we fake a relationship because you thought the Gibsons might take Rosie away?  Or were you _matchmaking_?  Because this whole time I haven’t gotten any indication that they think we’re a danger to her.”

Mycroft chuckled.  “Matchmaking?  That’s more Molly’s modus operandi.  I told you, it’s my job to be paranoid.  The pretend engagement was a precaution.  If it also resulted in another happy outcome, all the better.”

John huffed.  “Well, it didn’t, okay?  I won’t deny I haven’t enjoyed every moment, and longed for it to be real.  But for Sherlock?  This is just him going way above and beyond to protect us.  And maybe it’s good practice for the next time he has to pull a Janine.  He’s not in love with me, Mycroft.  I don’t know if he’s even capable of it.  Familial love, absolutely.  But romantic love?”

“You really think his behavior has all been acting?”

“He’s good at it, Mycroft!  Remember what he said to Molly at Sherrinford.  That was damned convincing.”

“That was a life or death situation.”

“And in Sherlock’s mind, the possibility of losing Rosie would be equally dire.”

Mycroft’s eyes widened.  “John…”

“No…no, I don’t want to hear any more.  Sherlock has been pretending this whole time.  He’s not in love with me.  This is all an act for the Gibsons.”

Mycroft looked stricken.  “Enough!”  John realized he wasn’t looking at him, but something beyond his shoulder.  John turned and saw Senator Gibson standing there, a cigar half way to his mouth. He threw it to the ground and stomped on it, then started for the house.

“Senator Gibson!  Stop, please!”  John touched his arm.

The Senator turned around and growled.  “Fair warning, Rosamund learned krav maga from _me_.”   Normally such a threat wouldn’t faze John, but he took this as a sign that Gibson wouldn’t be listening to a word he said anytime soon.  John watched him go into the house, calling for his wife. 

John went looking for Sherlock.  He’d said something about checking his e-mail. John tore up the stairs to their room and found him sitting on the bed with his laptop.  “Sherlock!” 

He looked up, his eyes widening.  “John!  What happened?”

John took several heaving breaths.  “I blew it, Sherlock.  I fucked up.  Mycroft and I were arguing about the fake engagement, and the Senator overheard.”  He went over to the window, which overlooked the driveway.  “Look.  He’s leaving with Grace.” 

Sherlock leapt off the bed and watched as their car backed out of the driveway and peeled off.  He turned to John.  “What _exactly_ did he overhear?”

John felt his face flush.  “I don’t know how long he was standing there, but I think I remember when Mycroft spotted him.  So, I think what I was saying at that moment was…um…”  It was all a blur, and John was shaking so hard he couldn’t think.  “Um...I was saying that you would do anything not to lose Rosie, that you weren’t in love with me and it was all an act for the Gibsons.”

Sherlock gave him a strange look.  “Why would you be saying something like that to Mycroft?”

John rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “I was accusing him of matchmaking.  Look, it doesn’t matter.  We have to go after them.  Explain.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  “Yes, of course.”  He swept past John and down the stairs. 

Sherlock tasked his mother with looking after Rosie, then grabbed his coat.  The two of them hurried to the car and Sherlock drove a little too recklessly towards the inn.  When they got inside, they saw the Gibsons by the front desk.  Sherlock barked, “Senator!”  Gibson turned and glared.  Sherlock glared just as hard.  “You owe us the chance to explain.”

  
Gibson gave him an incredulous look.  “I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“I think the hell your daughter put me through says otherwise.  Or do you not think you’re responsible for making her what she was?”

Grace gasped in outrage.  The Senator merely winced.  After a few seconds, he ground out, “I’ll give you ten minutes.”  He strode over to the breakfast room, which was currently empty.  “You’ll get your chance to talk, but I’m saying my piece first.  When we had Rosamund’s death investigated, we discovered a great many things that shocked us to our core.  Not the least of which was our erroneous belief that she worked for the CIA.  But more importantly, we were concerned about our granddaughter.  Who was raising her, whether she was safe, and so on.  Yes, there were some troubling things, but it seemed that half of that was the fault of her own mother.  We wanted to meet you for ourselves, get the whole story.  Not because we wanted to take her away from you.  Although if there had been a clear and present danger to her, of course we would have done so.  But we’re content to just be a presence in her life.  When we me the two of you, it seemed like all our fears were put to rest.  You were a loving couple who doted on Rosie.  And you were both such strong and protective people.  Especially you, Sherlock.  The lengths that you’ve gone to because you love John, and Rosie as an extension of him.  As far as we were concerned, she was in good hands.”

The senator looked at wife and sighed.  “But now I learn this whole engagement of yours was a sham?  Putting on an act so we’d accept you more?  Which is stupid, by the way.  It would have been just fine to me if you were only friends.  What upsets me is how convincing you were.  Sherlock, the way you look at John as if he hung the moon and the stars.  The fact that you could lie that convincingly makes me really uneasy.  I’d read the speculation that you’re a highly functioning sociopath, and I’d dismissed it based on what I’ve witnessed these past few days.  But now I have to wonder if it’s true.  _And_ wonder how a person like that could be a good influence for Rosie.”

Anger flooded John and he made to speak, but Sherlock gave him a quelling glance.  “Is it my turn, now?  The speculation you’ve read is based off my own claims about myself.  I’m the one who referred to myself as a highly functioning sociopath.  It’s what I wanted to believe.  But then I met John, and I eventually realized that I was full of rubbish.  The way I felt about him, the way those feelings continued to grow even though I knew they were dangerous…”  He looked at John.  “I should have kicked you out after Moriarty strapped a bomb to you.  For your own safety and so that my work wouldn’t be compromised.  But I couldn’t do it.  I was selfish.  From there on out my love only grew stronger and so did the danger to you.  Eventually, I did leave you, when there was no other choice.  And you went out and found more danger on your own.”

John’s heart pounded, he couldn’t believe he was saying all this.  Sherlock turned back to the Senator.  “Everything I’ve ever done, whether it’s brave or stupid or both, has been for John.  And not because I love him like a _friend_.”  He laughed harshly.  “I _do_ think he hangs the moon and stars, Senator.  That wasn’t acting.  That was me finally letting down my guard.”

John swallowed hard.  It was exactly what he’d been doing.  _Christ_ , was this real?  The Senator shook his head.  “How do I know this isn’t more lies?  John thinks it was an act, and he’s known you for years!”

Sherlock bellowed, “Sod what John _thinks_!  I’ve always told him that he sees, but he doesn’t observe.  He didn’t even realize I was gay until I explicitly told him just a few days ago!”

John flinched.  “Oi!  Pot, kettle, Sherlock!  You failed to deduce my own sexuality!  And the fact that _I’ve_ been completely gone on _you_ for bloody ages!”

Sherlock blinked.  “What?” he asked hoarsely.

John took a deep breath.  “You know how all this started, with Mycroft wanting us to have a plausible reason why I would ever want to move myself and my child back in with you?  And the plan he came up with was to pretend it was because I’m in love with you.  Well, get ready for the definition of irony:  that was the reason!  It was why I rejected your stupid idea of me finding some woman and moving out.  Because there is no way in hell I am ever going to leave you.  I love you, Sherlock, and I didn’t care if you only thought of me as family.  I was ready to take whatever you would give.  And it was why I went along with Mycroft’s ridiculous plan.”  John clenched his fists, tears pricking the back of his eyes as he watched Sherlock’s face soften.

Grace, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, finally spoke up.  “Oh my god, you really _do_ love each other!”

The Senator breathed, “Jesus H. Christ, you two are a pair of idiots.”

Grace huffed.  “Okay, I’m going to find Diana and see if there’s a vacancy.  Because you two need to get a room and have a long talk and….stuff.  I’m sure your family can watch Rosie for the night.”  She strode out of the breakfast room. 

The senator raised one eyebrow.  “I’m going to the pub and have several drinks.  Good luck, you two.”  He shook his head as he left the room.

John felt himself start to tremble.  Sherlock took a step towards him, looking uncertain.  “John?”

John gave him a reassuring look.  “Let’s save it for the room.  You should call the family now and let them know we won’t be back, because once we get some privacy…”  He gave him a significant look.  Sherlock flushed and pulled out his mobile.

A few minutes later, Grace came back in the room.  “Well!  Turns out there was a no show due to a snow storm. It’s a Christmas miracle!”  She laughed awkwardly.  “Here’s your key.  The room’s on us.  Consider it our Christmas present to you.”

John took the key from her.  “Thank you.”  He stepped over to Sherlock, grabbed his hand, and practically yanked him out towards the stairs.

When they got to the room, John slammed the door shut and narrowed his eyes at Sherlock.  “So, you really do love me?  Not as a friend.  Not as family.”

Sherlock nodded slowly.  “I am in love with you, John.  Romantic love.”

John took a shaky breath.  “I need to know what romantic love means to someone like Sherlock Holmes.”

Sherlock gave him his just-for-John smile.  “Everything we’ve been doing this past week is exactly what I want to keep doing.  Except I also want to have sex with you.”

John exhaled with relief and smiled.  “Sex with kissing?”

Sherlock grinned.  “ _Romantic_ sex with kissing.  And cuddling until we fall asleep, and waking up the next morning in each other’s arms, and repeat every day for long as we both shall live.”

John’s eyes widened.  “Are you proposing?”

Sherlock gave him a shy look.  “Isn’t it a formality at this point?”

John stepped forward and snaked his arms around Sherlock’s waist, pulling him flush against him.  “We haven’t even had our first kiss.”

Sherlock laughed incredulously.  “We’ve done plenty of kissing!  Or weren’t you paying attention?”

John shook his head.  “Those don’t count.  We both thought the other was putting on an act.  And for that reason, I was holding back.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened.  “Holding back?  You mean…” his voice grew husky, “…they could have been even _better_?” 

John curled his hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled him down.  “Let me show you.”  When their lips met, John poured into him all the love and tenderness and sheer joy that he’d ever felt at knowing this beautiful man.  He’d never thought Sherlock would be receptive to it, but now he felt Sherlock blossom under his touch and he realized he _was_ an idiot.  And truly _blessed_.  He led Sherlock to the bed and set about unwrapping the greatest Christmas present ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI, in case you want to see me on tumblr, my main multi-fandom account is aliasblack73.tumblr.com and my Sherlock-specific account is sherlock-nanowrimo.tumblr.com


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